


my world is only you

by yukjaem



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Medieval Fantasy, Minor Violence, Slow Burn, merc jaemin, runaway prince turned merc jeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-11-18 21:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukjaem/pseuds/yukjaem
Summary: It takes every last bit of Jeno’s willpower to stay conscious when everything gets all swimmy and black spots fill up his vision. The last thing he sees is Jaemin’s lips curling into a smirk, and he wishes he had enough energy to punch that smug look off his face.The last thing hehearsis, when Jaemin cups his hands on either side of Jeno’s face, and says, voice small but filled with conviction, “You belong to me now.”And well, fuck that.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is inspired by the golden age arc in berserk (minus all its r rated themes). thanks for checking this out and hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> —title taken from [sinners](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eoYDzJFqqqE) by lauren aquilina

Jeno Lee may be dead to the world, but dammit, he'll hold onto life for as long as he can, just for the sake of it.

Adrenaline thrums through his veins, his heart pounding, sweat prickling at the back of his neck. He breathes in, then exhales. Slow. Steady. Fixes his grip on the hilt of his sword as he eyes his remaining opponents. He's defeated the majority—seven of them lie crouched upon the grass, panting and gulping for air, their swords out of reach. The only guy left standing is on the shorter side, with a bony frame and a pair of flinty-looking arms that look like they'd snap in two at the slightest pressure.

Jeno almost feels bad for him.

"You sure you wanna do this?" he asks, shifting his weight back and forth, hesitant. "If you let me leave now, I promise I won't hurt you and the others."

Which is asking for a lot, really; these guys were the ones who cornered him like a pack of hungry dogs in the first place. Jeno doesn't know what he has that they'd want so badly—his belongings consist of the clothes and armour on his back, his chipped sword, and a bag of silver and copper coins he recently won from his last mercenary job. That’s it.

Dark, adamant eyes stare back at him.

Jeno sighs. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He swings his sword. The boy—he's just a _kid,_ and Jeno's heart twinges at the thought, even if they do look around the same age—parries, and they're immediately caught up in the constant movements of a hard exchange. Their swords clash in a flurry of blows, quickly, again.

He sidesteps a strike from his left, then another from his right, before going in for a swift blow to the teen’s side, clanging metal against his armour and making him stumble. He doesn’t fall like all of the grown men Jeno has previously sent to the ground, though. He rights himself up as soon as Jeno hits him—eyes still dark and determined.

"You're good. I'll give you that," Jeno whistles lowly, taking a step forward as the other teen loses ground. "Hell, you're better than all of your friends combined, but—" Here, just as the boy's sword is about to cleave his neck, Jeno moves out of his range, and in the next second he has his opponent on the dirt, the wind knocked hard out of his chest, the tip of Jeno's sword against his throat. "—I'm better."

The cheering—which had started at the beginning of the fight, something along the lines of "Crush him, Renjun!"—dies out, and there's a short moment of silence.

The look on Renjun’s face is murderous, but he turns his head away in surrender. Jeno draws back his sword—he’d give Renjun a hand, but he has a feeling his help is unwanted—when suddenly someone's clapping. Startled, he looks around, and his muscles tense instinctively when he sees one _scary motherfucking horse._

"You wield your sword well," its rider says, moving his horse at a leisurely pace towards them. Judging by the sighs of relief and whispers of awe around him, Jeno suspects this is the leader of the group. He presses his lips down in a grimace, gauging his chances. With his enemy mounted, on a black stallion to be specific, he probably can't win.

Oh, well.

Jeno swears at his bad luck and readies his sword as the rider and his horse approach.

From somewhere behind him, a deep voice yells, "Be careful, Boss, this guy's tough!" and the rider lets out a short huff of laughter, waving his hand in acknowledgement. If it weren't for the helmet hiding his face, Jeno would've sworn he could see a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I don’t wanna fight you,” the rider says, sounding amused at the mere notion. “So, lower your sword?”

It’s Jeno’s turn to laugh. The guy’s crazy if he thinks Jeno believes him for even one second. “As if. Then why'd you set your men on me? I don't have anything worth stealing."

“No, you don’t,” the rider agrees. “I wanted to test you.”

“And why would you wanna do that?”

“We were at the same the castle raid four days ago. I got the chance to watch your one-to-one combat with the Thirty-Man Slayer. Remember?”

Jeno nods shortly. The Thirty-Man Slayer was a widely known and feared mercenary, rumoured to have taken down thirty men with a battleaxe in ten minutes. Jeno had taken him down in less than two. “Yeah, sure. What about it?”

The rider halts his horse right before Jeno in an attempt to loom over him—make him feel intimidated. Jeno grits his teeth as the stallion nickers, softly blowing warm breath over Jeno’s skin. He stands his ground.

"If the Thirty-Man Slayer's axe hadn't cracked when you swung at him, you would’ve died," the rider says.

Jeno thinks about this for a second. He recalls nearly having his head chopped off, until his sword blocked the Thirty-Man Slayer's axe, crumbling it to pieces by luck. "Probably," he says neutrally.

"At least you're honest," the rider sniggers. He quickly sobers up. "You fight recklessly, whether it's with someone as strong as the Thirty-Man Slayer or with multiple opponents like my group of men. It's almost as if the only way you can win is by gambling with your own life. Like you're struggling to find a purpose to go on, but deep down, you want to live anyway." He pauses, and adds a little, "You're interesting."

Jeno adjusts his stance, frowning. "And what does this have to do with anything? In fact, who do you think you are?"

The rider considers him for a moment, then in one fluid motion, he slides off his horse, flexing his knees slightly as he lands. His silver helmet comes off. Long, fluttering lashes blink at him, dark over his cheekbones. Jeno sucks in a breath. _Of course, he has to be a pretty boy._

"I'm Jaemin Na, leader of the mercenary band, the Black Coyotes. And you are?"

Without warning, the name tumbles out of his mouth. “Jeno.”

"The way you fight is admirable, Jeno, and I've taken a liking to you," Jaemin says. Then, bluntly, "I want you."

_What._

"Join the Black Coyotes."

_The._

"What do you say?"

_Fuck?_

At Jeno's lack of response, Jaemin smiles, all teeth. He runs a hand through his dark hair, dropping his helmet onto the grass and kicking it towards Renjun's feet. "I have a feeling," he says slowly, assessing Jeno from head to toe, "that I'll only be able to get you to join if I beat you in a duel."

Jeno grins. "For once, you got something right. And if I win?"

"Then I'll leave you alone. You can even kill me if you want.”

“Jaemin!” shouts one of the men—no, another _boy,_ even younger looking than Jeno and Renjun. The kid staggers to his feet, his sword in hand. "We can help—"

“Stay out of this, Jisung,” Jaemin cuts him off. Then his tone turns soft, almost fond. “Trust me.”

Jaemin unsheathes his sabre, a long narrow blade, which honestly doesn’t look that fearsome, and Jeno wonders where he's getting that immense yet seemingly baseless confidence. He waits for Jaemin to raise his sword, though. Then he attacks.

Jaemin blocks his first strike. There’s a shrill clang as their swords met. Jaemin’s on a horizontal guard across his face, Jeno’s perpendicular and bearing his entire weight on his blade. There's no surprise on Jaemin's face, neither does he look strained. His expression remains composed, and so does his movements as he pushes back on Jeno, inching his way forward, even though his sabre looks like it'll shatter in any second.

"Hey, there," Jaemin breathes out, close to Jeno's face. He smirks.

Jeno refuses to respond and grits his teeth; his arms are groaning in pain, but he ignores it, high on the rush of adrenaline that surges through him, making him oblivious to everything else but the need to survive, the need to prove himself, the need for _triumph._

“Honestly, you know, you don’t have to try so hard. I’m already tired,” Jaemin says lightly.

Despite that, it’s Jaemin who wins the short battle of force, and it's out of pure instinct that Jeno jumps away, getting a shallow cut on his bicep as a result. There's no time to regather his senses when Jaemin counter-attacks—his never-ending strikes rain down on Jeno in a whirlwind of sharp metal. Blood begins to trickle in rivulets down Jeno’s arms and legs, mixing with his sweat and grime.

He's good. Jaemin Na is _really_ fucking good.

Jeno feels a grin threaten to split his face.

In Jaemin’s short, split second of a pause, he brings his left hand up, pressing it against one end of his weapon, then twists himself to the side, pivoting on one foot and nearly slamming the hilt of his sword against Jaemin's unprotected temple. Jaemin jerks back in time, and even as he dodges the first blow, his sabre is speeding towards Jeno's stomach.

Jeno swerves out of the way, then aims for a swift strike to Jaemin’s torso. Jaemin blocks him and staggers back at the harsh impact of the blow.

"You almost got me there. Better luck next time?" he teases.

"You talk too much."

Jaemin blows a raspberry. "That’s cuz you’re no fun.”

Then Jaemin feints right, and Jeno sees it coming a split second too late. The blade comes alarmingly close to his eye and grazes past his cheek.

"Watch out!" someone screams from behind them. Jaemin’s horse neighs and stamps its feet.

Jeno thrusts his sword forward in retaliation, just as Jaemin takes another step back—into empty air.

They both fall—Jeno dragged forward in the momentum—tumbling down the cliff, swords clattering beside them. Good thing they weren’t high off the ground, otherwise they’d be dead by now.

Instead, they roll and skid across the dirt, each trying to get the upper hand. Jeno shifts his legs and manages to pin Jaemin down by straddling his waist. He grabs him by the collar and slams down his fist without hesitation, feeling the crunch under his skin, knuckles stinging after the blow.

“Boss!” a deep voice yells from above. “Lele, get the bow and arrow!”

“Don’t! Jaemin said not to interfere!”

“But we can’t just let him…”

Jeno drowns out the voices, landing several more punches in as Jaemin feebly attempts to shield his face with his arms. He doesn't want the kill the pretty boy though, contrary to popular belief, so Jeno relents once he's satisfied Jaemin won't be getting up anytime soon. He stands up, sways on his feet, and turns to face the cliff, where he spots the rest of the Black Coyotes crowding on the ledge. A couple of them—like Renjun, Jisung, that tall guy and his friend with a bow and arrow on his back—were scrambling to reach the bottom of the cliff.

Jeno takes a moment to breathe. _What to do now...? Run for it?_

He always seems to forget the first lesson his swordmaster had ever taught him: _Never turn your back on your enemy._

His knees buckle underneath his weight, and he falls forward, knees hitting the dirt in a sickening thud.

For the first time in eight years, Jeno panics.

It hits him with a startling intensity that he wants to live; he can't let it end here. But Jaemin's sabre makes the sound of a sharp whistle as it cuts through the wind, and Jeno sees a flash of silver coming down in his peripheral vision—he's lost, and it's finally going to be over.

The magic swells inside him when he calls it, and in the space of a second, reality bends around him. Jeno feels his eyes widen. A flicker of want curls at the bottom of his stomach. His heart pounds against his chest. Breath quickens. His brain slips into overdrive, memories flitting through his mind like the pages of a book. The memories batter against his skull, and the only thing he can make out from the blur of voices and colours is:  _"You can reclaim your crown."_

Jeno feels a spark ignite at the base of his thumb. He lifts his palms to the sky.

Then a cold blade presses against his neck, and stops, never breaking through the skin.

"I win," Jaemin says.

There's a nauseating sense of disorientation when Jeno snaps out of it, just like there always is when his brain rushes to catch up and shift the world back into its place. Jeno screws his eyes shut, forcefully quelling the spark of magic waiting to burst from his fingertips. It takes a moment before he can open his eyes again.

He comes face to face with Jaemin.

The teen had dropped his sword and fallen to his knees, blood stained on his lips and cheeks. (Jeno's dimly aware of some members of the Black Coyotes crowding over them—Renjun, Jisung, that tall guy, and another boy with a bow and arrow.) Jaemin ignores them and sways forward, as if his head has grown heavy. Their foreheads meet, and even with the blood sticking to their skin and the sweat sliding down their necks, even though Jeno still thinks Jaemin's a huge asshole with a superiority complex, he can't help but falter when he stares into Jaemin's honey brown eyes.

It takes every last bit of Jeno’s willpower to stay conscious when everything gets all swimmy and black spots fill up his vision. The last thing he sees is Jaemin’s lips curling into a smirk, and he wishes he had enough energy to punch that smug look off his face.

The last thing he _hears_ is, when Jaemin cups his hands on either side of Jeno’s face, and says, voice small but filled with conviction, “You belong to me now.”

_And well, fuck that._

 

 

 

 


	2. i. take you by the hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renjun turns to go, then pauses. "And Jeno, if you want to know why we follow Jaemin, fucking figure it out yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's also short cuz it was supposed to go with the prologue but i decided to split it into two ahha. bUT thank you guys for all your kind words and support so far! i was kinda scared no one would like this type of fic, so i'm rly glad! TT_TT

Jeno wakes, bleary-eyed, his head hurting like a bitch. He sits up, takes note of the bandages wrapped tightly around his arms and legs, and rips them off without a second thought. His injuries have already healed overnight; leaving no sign of the altercation, not even a scar or a bruise.

He slides his ring off his chain necklace, subconsciously running his fingers over its golden ridges. He twists the ring on, letting the lion design curl around the base of his left thumb. Considering that he's shirtless and someone's taken the time to treat his cuts, he's surprised no one's stolen it.

Not like they could have, if they'd tried. But the fact that Jeno had woken up naturally, the next morning in the comforts of a tent, goes to show that no one had even bothered touching his ring.

They probably hadn’t seen it; Jeno's never encountered such a sloppy mercenary band. And to think they’re the supposed infamous Black Coyotes.

"Do you have a death wish?"

Jeno lifts his head, and winces at the sunlight striking his eyes at just the right angle. With the tent flaps drawn back, Renjun stands at the entrance, a hand on his hip and sour-faced.

"Why the hell would you take off your bandages..." Renjun pauses when he snatches Jeno's forearm—considers the unmarred, smooth skin. His eyes flicker to his bare chest in the same condition.

"You were saying?" Jeno asks, smug. "Your leader barely landed a cut on me." Lie. He's sure Renjun will call out on his bluff—that he feels Jeno's pulse accelerate at his wrist.

Renjun's eyes narrow. He drops Jeno's arm as if scalded. "If you're not hurt, then get the fuck up and help pack the campsite. We need to leave before noon."

Before Jeno can even open his mouth, Renjun disappears, leaving the entrance of the tent wide open. The chilly breeze that rushes in prompts Jeno to scramble around for his shirt. All his belongings lie on a small pile in the corner, his trusty sword sheathed and propped against the tent wall. Once fully clothed and armed—save for his armour because he can't bring himself to walk around with heavy metal as deadweight this early in the morning—Jeno rubs the back of his head, slides his ring back onto his necklace, and steps out into the bleak daybreak.

Although a few were packing up as Renjun had instructed Jeno, most of them were still in a sleepy daze; Jeno sees a boy poke his head out of a tent, yawn, and then re-enter his tent. Another group sits in a circle, eating lumps of bread as they share stories, and judging by some of their exaggerated hand motions, they're recounting Jeno and Jaemin's fight. He doesn't remember much of what happened after yesterday's duel, just that, by some unpleasant turn of events, he lost, which means that Jeno is now a part of the Black Coyotes, whether he likes it or not.

It's a shame Jeno doesn't like backing out of a deal; running away would be much easier if he were dishonest.

He meanders in and out of the campsite, taking in his surroundings. Even as a wandering mercenary who couldn’t give two shits about other merc groups, Jeno's heard of the Black Coyotes. They're the last band you'd ever want to meet on the battlefield—going against them basically means conceding defeat, not that Jeno had let that deter him from fighting their leader head-on yesterday. And look where that got him.

Jeno never imagined all of them to be so young, though. Most of the members, like Jaemin and Renjun, look around his age. The oldest looks around twenty-seven, the youngest fourteen.

He lets the thought sink into his mind, then forces it away. He shouldn't let it get to him. After all, Jeno never liked being treated like a kid either. Shaking his head, he ducks under a branch, climbing into a more secluded spot where three boys and a girl sit. The girl is sharpening a small knife as the others watch.

“Hey, it’s you!” One of the guys jumps up, pointing his index finger towards Jeno. A smile stretches his face as he brings back his hand to pat his chest. “I’m Yukhei! The best swordsman after Boss and Renjun!... And you, I guess. You did beat Renjun _and_ me.”

It’s the tall guy from yesterday, the one who kept calling Jaemin, ‘Boss.’ His voice is loud and carefree, and he kind of reminds Jeno of an oversized puppy.

“That one’s Chenle,” Yukhei continues, pointing at another kid with a bow and arrow on his lap. “Yeri!” Yeri waves her hand slightly. “And finally, our youngest, Jisung!” The lanky boy stares at him for a split second, then glances away, face flat.

Jeno smiles tightly in response. He recognizes each one of them from the day before, but that was when he was their enemy and had been trying to beat up their leader. And now they're expected to treat him as one of their own? Jeno doubts it's that easy for them to do.

“You were incredible yesterday,” Chenle gushes. He pats the space on the rock beside him, inviting Jeno to take a seat. When Jeno refuses, preferring to stand, Chenle pouts. “That was the first time I’ve ever seen Jaemin hyung beaten up like that. Right, guys?”

Yeri nods solemnly. “Pretty surreal. Renjun was the closest call before, but never like that.”

"Really?" Jeno feigns surprise.

"Yeah, Renjun's our second-in-command for a reason," Yeri says. "He's small, and people usually assume he's weak, but he's not. Far from it. Renjun's one of our strongest, so it was a bit of a shock when you defeated him so quickly. You were close to defeating Jaemin too.”

“And when you caught Boss off guard and used the hilt of your sword to hit his head..." Yukhei says earnestly, puppy eyes alit with awe. "He might’ve dodged in time but it was still glorious, man."

Jeno blinks, taken aback. "Uh, thanks?"

"Hyung still had him beat in the sword fight, though," Jisung cuts in, voice quiet but coloured with tension.

"Yeah, yeah, but—" Yukhei holds up his fists in a fighting position. Jeno shifts his stance, his hand immediately curling around the hilt of his sword. At Yeri's inquisitive look, he stills, then drops his arm to his side. "—Jeno here got the upper hand in hand-to-hand combat. Boss's face was all bloodied!" Yukhei turns to Jeno with furrowed brows. "Seriously, if you hadn't turned your back on him, I dunno what we would have done."

"Either Chenle or Yeri would have shot him." Jisung rises to his feet, and although Jeno had a quick duel with the boy yesterday (knocked him to the ground with ease), he doesn't recall the boy ever being so tall—enough for Jeno to have to crane his neck to meet his gaze. Jisung regards him coolly. "Or I would have run my sword through the back of his head myself."

The boy still has some growing to do, with gangly legs and arms a bit too long for his body, but when Jisung stalks off, shoulders set straight in pride, Jeno has a hunch that he'd grow into a fine fighter, maybe even better than himself one day. Hopefully, Jeno would be out of here by then.

Once Jisung’s out of earshot, Yukhei falls back with a sigh. "Well, that was awkward."

"Don't mind him," Chenle pipes up, looking sheepish. "He doesn't mean it. Jisung wouldn’t try to kill you. I’ll make sure of it."

"Out of all of us, he probably looks up to Jaemin the most," Yeri explains.  "As long as you don't betray Jaemin, I'm sure he'll come around eventually." She gives Jeno a warm smile, her knife fully sharpened in her hand, a crossbow just out of reach. Jeno would have to be blind if he didn't perceive the underlying threat.

_If you betray Jaemin, you betray us. And if you betray us, you're dead._

There's no doubt in Jeno's mind that these teens, Renjun and everyone in the Black Coyotes, will follow their leader to hell and back. They'd risk their lives for him; they'd kill for him. Leading a band of seemingly unscrupulous youth is near impossible, yet Jaemin somehow manages to keep their loyalty. For the life of him, Jeno can't say he understands.

"Why do you follow him?" he asks. The trio has long since moved on and changed the subject, but they get what he means immediately. Yukhei snaps his head towards him, the beginning of a long spiel already forming in his mouth.

He stops mid-breath, looking past Jeno in a mix of joy and fear. Someone clasps his shoulder.

“Hey, you fucker.” Renjun digs his fingers into the juncture between Jeno’s neck and shoulder, dragging him down to his eye-level. For someone that short, Renjun has a lot of power, and a knifelike pain shoots down Jeno’s arm. He doesn’t let it show, though, and cocks a single eyebrow.

“Hm?”

Renjun’s nostrils flare in annoyance. “Jaemin wants to see you. He’s by the river. Leave your sword behind.” He turns to go, then pauses. "And Jeno, if you want to know why we follow Jaemin, fucking figure it out yourself."

 

 

♛

 

 

After bidding the others goodbye, Jeno follows the general direction Renjun had pointed out for him. He finds the river in a matter of minutes and stands at the edge of the water, more bewildered than flustered by what he sees. In the middle of the broad expanse of water, the back of Jaemin’s bare skin faces him, the water reaching up to his waist. Soapy bubbles gather at the top of his shoulders, travelling down in rivulets from where he scrubs a bar of soap through his unruly hair.

"Okaaay?" Jeno says slowly. He can’t seem to get a good grasp on Jaemin’s character yet. “You wanted to see me?”

"Yeah, I did." Jaemin turns to face him. Cuts and scrapes sprinkle over his cheekbones, jawline and lower lip. A bruise flowers over his cheek, by the corner of his eyes. "Renjun said you were all healed. Not a single cut left on you." He laughs and gestures at himself. "Can't say the same for myself."

Jeno shrugs awkwardly. "Guess my injuries weren't that bad. Whoever treated me did a helluva good job."

"You'd also have to thank Renjun for that. He’s not only a great fighter but a healer too," Jaemin says, and Jeno still has to wonder why Renjun hadn't said anything about his miraculous recovery yet.

Jaemin dunks his head into the water and shakes off the bubbles from his hair, before wading towards the shore with a growing smile on his face. He offers his hand to Jeno, who's taken a sudden interest in the glossy black pebbles on the ground. "Mind giving me a hand up?"

No, he'd rather not. But he did make a deal, and Jeno Lee doesn’t back down from his word. Joining the Black Coyotes means obeying the leader. So, begrudgingly, with his eyes still looking elsewhere, Jeno closes his fingers around Jaemin's and prepares to haul him up. Slender fingers tighten around his.

"Gotcha," Jaemin croons.

"Don't you dare—"

A quiet roar rushes to Jeno’s head when Jaemin yanks him down into the cold river. For a split second, he’s completely submerged in water until he breaches the surface with a gasp, gulping in the sweet air, wiping the corners of his eyes to clear his sight. Jaemin’s twinkling laughter echoes a couple of feet away.

Jeno takes a step forward. “You—”

Jaemin dunks him in another splash of freezing water, and Jeno isn’t going to let it pass a second time. With a loud cry, he attacks Jaemin in a flurry of waves. Jaemin counterattacks and they’re immediately caught up in the to and fro, a repeat of yesterday’s battle but with much less at stake.

Eventually, Jeno gets close enough to launch his weight onto Jaemin, hands pushing against the hard plane of Jaemin’s bare chest. Jaemin yelps and falls back—aims one last splash at Jeno’s face with a kick of his leg—before plunging into the water and popping his head out on the other side of the river. He climbs out and dries himself with a piece of cloth. Scurries into a pair of loose pants.

Water still sticks to Jaemin’s hair, curling the end of the strands and turning his head into a messy mop of dark hair. A smile lights up his face.

_So what, he’s cute. Get over it, Jeno._

Jeno flips over onto his back and stretches his arms out to swim towards Jaemin, gliding along the waves gracefully. His arms hit the edge of the riverbank, and Jaemin’s face peers down at him. “Need help getting out?” He extends his hand.

Jeno takes a moment to consider, then reaches out. He pulls Jaemin down, smirking as he watches Jaemin fall in with a shriek. "Now we're even."

 

 

 

When they’re both finally out of the water, they lie next to each other for several minutes on the grass, exhausted and gasping for air. Jaemin rolls over to one side, smiling broadly with his pearly whites on full display, and Jeno realizes his cheeks hurt from doing the same.

"You're obvious, y'know," Jaemin says, propping himself up with one arm. There’s a pretty pink flush in the apple of his cheeks from exertion. Jeno tilts his head away, his lips all of a sudden dry.

"Obvious about what?"

"How much it pains you to stay here and obey my orders. I’m surprised you didn’t run as soon you woke up, to be honest," Jaemin says as he extends his arms and legs, stretching his muscles like a cat after a long nap. He sits up and glances back with a quirk of the lips when Jeno follows suit. "At least you look more relaxed now. The water fight helped."

Jeno doesn't reply. There's a brief lull. The river makes bubbling sounds against the shore. Somewhere in the forest, he can hear the birds chirping to the morning sun.

"How do you like the Black Coyotes?" Jaemin starts again, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "I'm sure you've gotten a chance to explore a bit."

Jeno hesitates, chewing his lips contemplatively. "Honestly? It’s not what I expected. The merc bands I've seen so far were all ruthless men with shady backgrounds. They were sexist pigs who answered to no one and went wherever money would follow. Black Coyotes is..." after struggling for a moment to find the right word, Jeno gives up, "different. I can feel it."

Jaemin chuckles. "You're right. It's hard to discriminate when we’ve got all sorts of people here: sons and daughters of blacksmiths, runaway children of broke aristocrat families, street urchins, escaped prisoners, you name it! We _are_ different." Jaemin stares at the sky for a long time, and although Jeno wants to tell him that he doesn’t want to know—doesn’t want to get attached to whatever this is, the tingly buzz in his stomach, the rapid beat of his heart—he can’t get a word out of his mouth. Jaemin starts again after a while. “But all of us do share one thing in common.”

Curiosity beats him to it. “That is…?”

“A dream. With enough hope to make it come true,” Jaemin says, and Jeno throws back his head and laughs.

“Of course, that’s what it is.”

“You have a dream, Jeno?” Jaemin asks, ignoring his last remark.

The golden ring on his necklace radiates warmly across Jeno's chest, seeping through his skin and pulsing in tandem with his heart. Tucked underneath his shirt, the lion carving roars in his head, whispers of the past crying for justice long overdue. But Jeno doesn't know for sure what it wants—doesn't even know what he wants.

Jaemin's staring at him expectantly, waiting, and Jeno says firmly, "No, I don't have a dream." He has no reason to live nor die.

“That’s okay,” Jaemin says, taking it in stride. “You can help me achieve mine until you find your own. If your dream leads you on a path different from the Black Coyote's, then you can leave.”

"What makes you think I won't leave today?"

"You don’t even know what my dream is yet,” Jaemin says with a pout. He jumps to his feet and offers Jeno a hand. His eyes are bright and sincere—impatient. "I _will_ become King, and you _will_ fight by my side.”

There's no further explanation; no hows or whys, not even what Jeno would gain out of it. By chance, the sun rises to its peak in the sky, and at the back of his mind, Jeno vaguely remembers Renjun saying they had to leave by noon. The sunlight spills past the peaks of Jaemin's bare shoulders in stripes of washed-out cream and gold. A droplet of water shimmers from his impossibly long lashes. There's no hesitation as he lets his hand hover, completely self-assured.

Jeno shakes his head in disbelief. "That's a crazy idea, you motherfucker."

And he takes Jaemin's hand.

 

 

 


	3. ii. in glory we return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You risk your life every day...so why do I need a reason to risk my life for you, Jeno?"

“The enemy’s main force is on the top of that hill, about 2000 strong. Our job lies behind the hill,” Jaemin addresses the Black Coyotes, reining in his black stallion in the meantime. “We’re to set fire to the enemy’s rations and supplies. We’ll have to take the roundabout route along the river and launch a sneak attack from behind. Once that’s done, ride back at full speed—cut through the centre of the enemy camp and head back directly for the castle gate.”

“What’s our support?” Yukhei calls out.

“The King Regent doesn’t have any to spare. We’re on our own,” Jaemin replies smoothly. There’s no room for disagreement in his tone.

The news gets repeated amongst the group, but instead of apprehension, a growing sense of excitement infuses the air. They don’t stop to question Jaemin’s orders. Either they’re victorious and make it out alive, or they die. Simple as that.

Mob mentality can be scary like that sometimes.

“Jeno.” Jaemin turns towards him, his stare unrelenting. “We need a rearguard. It's a tough job. You'd have to keep the enemy busy and protect the escape of our allies. There's a high risk of death." He tilts his head mockingly. "Think you can handle it?"

Jeno snorts. "Is that a question or an order?" he says with his usual bluntness, and Jaemin shrugs. His smile sharpens.

"Either or."

"Yeah, I'll do it, don't worry."

There's a ripple of confusion when Jeno accepts the role like it'll be a walk in the park. Jeno doesn't pay them much mind. He nudges his horse to the back of the group, comments like  _ "Won't he just run off?" _ and  _ "I guess that's the last we'd ever see of him." _ fading into background noise.

"Asshole."

He glances at Renjun. The commander’s sitting upright in his saddle, his expression betraying no emotion.

"Renjun," Jeno greets, a bit more civilly. "Jaemin said you were the one who patched me up earlier. Thanks for that."

His gratitude goes unappreciated.

"I hope you die," Renjun says, but there's no bite in his tone, and Jeno dips his head in acknowledgement. He can respect that. Renjun scowls and flips down his helmet visor to cover his face. "People might think Jaemin's just testing you when he puts you as a rearguard, but they're wrong. If you screw up, we're all screwed. For some inexplicable reason, Jaemin trusts you with all of our fucking lives."

"But you're hoping that I die?" Jeno asks, nonplussed.

Renjun sighs. "Yeah, so you better let me down."

It's a weird but strangely comforting kind of pep talk, and Jeno raises a weak hand in the air as a mock salute. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. I promise to stay alive just for you."

Renjun grumbles underneath his breath. The ring on Jeno’s necklace pulses, and he grins, adrenaline kicking in as each second passes and the crowd's energy finally starts getting to him. This might be a little fun.

 

 

♛

 

 

They plunge into the river one by one in a crooked line, the dark currents battering against them relentlessly. Jeno's fingers grip tighter on his horse's bridle, trying to bring it closer, keep it in line with the rest of the Black Coyotes. It's hard to see where he's going, but at least the night covers them from enemy eyes and the howling wind muffles the noise. No one would suspect them to launch a sneak attack on a night like this, and if they attack the enemy’s rear, they’ll also be dropping fire on them windward. They’d be forced to run north, exactly as planned.

Jaemin had taken everything into account.

"Crap." Someone slips in front of him, and Jeno steadies him by the waist. It's Chenle, who shakes him off but not without giving him a grateful smile.

Jeno swallows the thick lump in his throat. "Should you even be here?" he whispers slowly, gesturing at Chenle, the sword hanging from his belt that doesn't match his height and looks like it'll sooner weigh him down than aid him in battle. All the archers are supposed to be stationed at the castle gates.

_ "Yes," _ Chenle replies, hushed but emphatic. “I have to keep an eye on Jisung,” he adds quietly. His shuddering shoulders belie his affirmation, and Jeno pats his back gently. It's too late to warn the others they have a "stowaway" in their group; they've already travelled too far to turn back now.

Jeno curses his bleeding heart. "I’ll keep both of you safe," he tells Chenle, and he means it.

They eventually clamber out of the river and into the forest, weaving their way through the dense greenery. The sky is dark and starless, the Black Coyotes as quiet as a group of young mercs ever gets. Jeno lets the temporary peace wash over him—horses nickering, winds rustling the leaves, metal swords and armour brushing against each other. They slink through the woods like a large predator on the hunt.

Jeno keeps an eye on Chenle's back—Jisung is somewhere near the front, and as long as he does his job as a rearguard correctly, he shouldn't have to worry too much about the younger.

Then the plan sets into motion, a battle cry piercing through the silence as everyone surges forward, kicking their horses into a gallop, swords drawn.

The flames are raging high by the time Jeno and the latter half of the group reach the camp. They cut through the centre with startling facility and flee towards the castle as instructed, eager to escape the intense heat. The enemy scamper to get ready—grab their weapons and mount their horses—and with nowhere else left to go, they follow them north.

An enemy gets too close for comfort, and Jeno knocks him off horseback with a low swipe of his broadsword. One down. He eyes the rest of the stampede. There are possibly hundreds more coming. Swearing underneath his breath, Jeno wipes his sweaty palms and levels his blade, biceps already aching at the thought of the impending battle—Jaemin wasn’t kidding when he said there was a high risk of death.

For some reason, he has a feeling Jaemin knew he’d enjoy this; Jeno had always liked putting his life on the line in battle.

_ “He trusts you with all of our fucking lives." _

Oh, and that too.

Jeno strikes one man after the other until he starts losing count of how many he’s defeated. His flimsy helmet is knocked off, which is  _ dangerous,  _ and his cheek is split open, face drenched with sweat and speckled with blood. He keeps at it. Loses track of time.

There’s a high-pitched gasp, someone crying out amongst all the noise, shouting above the rush of adrenaline in Jeno’s ears. He blinks, trying to find the source of the cry, to see a man slam his sword down on Chenle, trying to get through his shaky defence.

“Don’t!” Jeno shouts, even as his voice cracks. He lunges forward, still on horseback, but he can’t get there in time—until he does. It’s like the duel with Jaemin all over again, reality bends around him, time slows, and suddenly both Jeno and his horse are in front of Chenle, shielding him from the brunt of the attack. He growls and dispatches the man quickly.

“H-how?” Chenle stammers.

“No time!” Jeno snaps. “Get outta here!”

Chenle pauses, frozen to the spot. “But you—”

_ “Go!” _

Chenle grits his teeth and urges his horse forward. Jeno watches him escape out of the corner of his eyes. When he’s certain Chenle’s gone, he launches himself back into the battle. It’s not until he realizes that he’s fallen behind and is the only one still fending off the enemy, does it dawn upon him how utterly screwed he is. It’s basically one man vs an entire fucking army.

One guy gets lucky with a spear and digs it into the crevice of Jeno’s armour, toppling him off his horse.

_ Shit. _

With one last burst of strength fueled by the need for survival, Jeno clutches the spear with his bare hands and drags the man down with him. He manages to come out on top in the scuffle, but not without losing precious time and his horse—it ran away, no doubt—and with it, his last chance of getting away.

_ Isn't this putting my life too much on the line? _ Jeno grumbles to himself, pulling the spear out of his shoulder. Blood flows down freely.

He was able to avoid death via spear, and he's grateful for that, but the sight of another horde of men fast approaching on horseback while he's standing there horseless, injured and exhausted, is fucking disheartening.

_ I did not sign up for this shit. _

An arrow whizzes past him, causing one of the men on horseback to falter, and Jeno’s breath catches in his throat. He swivels on his feet, staring at the newcomer with wide eyes. Jaemin’s on his stallion at breakneck speed, a crossbow in one hand. He fires another arrow with surprising accuracy, then chucks it to the side and extends a hand.

“Come on!”

Jeno reaches out.

Their hands meet, and Jaemin clasps his fingers around his. He uses the momentum as he turns his horse back around to heave Jeno onto his saddle. Without waiting to check if he’s okay or secure—because they’re running  _ out of time _ and the enemy’s catching up at an alarming rate—Jaemin leans forward.

“Hold on tight.”

Jeno barely has enough time to wrap his arms around his waist before Jaemin prompts his stallion into a fast gallop, kicking up a dust storm behind them. It doesn’t take long, however, before the enemy catches up again, flanking them on either side, swords and spears flashing dangerously close.

“Why’d you come back?” Jeno yells over the rushing wind and sound of hooves. “We’re not gonna make it; our combined weight is  _ slowing _ us down!”

“It’s fine! We’ll make it,” Jaemin says grimly. He doesn’t look back, not even once. “Believe me, Jeno, I won’t let us die like this. Not when we’re this close to the finish line.”

And just like that, Jeno believes him. Which is  _ fucking ridiculous.  _ He breathes in, taking in the smell of sweat and Jaemin as he clings on for dear life.

He breathes out.

By some goddamn miracle, Jaemin’s stallion pulls ahead, and they burst out of the forest, hundreds of men close at their heels.

Their archers stationed on the castle walls have their bows poised in their hands, arrows nocked, tips pointed downwards. Rows and rows of iron cannons wait in front of the gate, filled with gunpowder and fitted with a fuse.

Jaemin swerves out of the line of fire. They’re all in position, ready to be released at the flick of his wrist.

The enemy surrenders.

 

 

♛

 

 

It’s a victory for the Black Coyotes—a step closer to winning the war against Testudo and gaining the trust and approval of the King Regent Taeyong. If they keep this up, Jaemin had promised, it won't take long for them to take on bigger, more important battles and rise through the ranks. Maybe even be dubbed as knights.

In the end, for the majority of the Black Coyotes, it all comes down to two things: money and a title. They don't care how the war had sparked between Testudo and Leonum about a decade ago, or why neither side wants to sign a peace treaty now. Jeno can't blame them though, because who cares about any of that shit when you're struggling to earn enough money to feed and take care of yourself and your family? When living becomes a daily obstacle to overcome?

He's been a witness of too many tragedies, honest people stooping low when they grow desperate—he was nearly one of them, some years ago—but when he looks at the Black Coyotes, all he sees is burning determination. Hope. A purpose to go on. All thanks to Jaemin, who truly might be fit to be King.

Or maybe he's just projecting again.

The Black Coyotes flag, a white coyote against a black background, is hoisted on top of the castle walls, rippling in the wind, a stark contrast next to the pale red Leonum flag above it. Jeno has a clear view of the flags from where he sits, curled up in a crenel of the battlement from across. He can hear the celebrations going on down below in the inner ward of the castle—out-of-tune singing, lutes playing, drinks clinking and spilling as people dance themselves to drunken oblivion. They laugh in pure unadulterated joy, and Jeno wonders when was the last time he could do the same.

_ Too long. _

He’s thinking too intently, focused on the nagging emptiness in his belly, that he misses the sound of approaching footsteps climbing up the stone steps, until Jaemin makes an appearance, two mugs of ale balanced in his hands.

Jeno’s head snaps up, all muscles in his body going tense in reflex. He uncoils himself—then exhales.

"It's all doom and gloom up here," Jaemin says lightly. He'd cleaned up, skin thoroughly scrubbed and armour discarded, wearing a thin white cotton shirt with the neckline unlaced. Jeno tries hard not to stare at where his collarbones peek out. "You've taken to secluding yourself from the others? You're tonight's hero, Jeno. You should celebrate, drink a beer or two."

Jeno shrugs. He rubs a hand through his hair. It's unwashed, dirty with sweat and a little blood, sticky underneath his fingers. "I've been meaning to ask you: Why'd you come back for me?"

"Simple. I trusted you to stay alive," Jaemin says, eyes remarkably candid from underneath his lashes. Jeno glances away. "I don't know what it is, but I see this spark in you; it's like this force telling me to believe in you—that you could do it. And you did. You exceeded beyond my expectations.”

"That's not what I meant," Jeno argues. "You didn't bring reinforcements with you, just a crossbow which you tossed aside to grab my hand. Our weight slowed your horse down, and one slip-up could have sent us to our death." His voice increases volume. "Didn't you say you wanted to be King? Well, sorry to break it to you, but you can't be King if you're  _ dead." _

Jaemin rests his hip against the battlement, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Jeno tapers off and fights to keep his voice steady when he starts again. "Let me rephrase my question: Why would you risk your life like that?"

There's a pause. Jaemin considers him, then sets down the mugs of beer and perches himself on top of the ledge of the battlement. He leans forward to meet Jeno's eyes.

"You risk your life every day...so why do I need a reason to risk  _ my _ life for  _ you, _ Jeno?"

Jeno doesn't respond, letting his silence speak for himself.

Jaemin sighs. "You're worth a lot more than you think."

Jaemin thrusts a cup of beer into Jeno’s hands, its dark amber liquid sloshing over the brim, droplets spilling onto his pants. Jaemin downs his own beer, humming in bliss as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "Let's go." He jumps off the ledge, tugging at Jeno's sleeve. "Pretty sure the others have something to say to you."

 

 

 

“Alrighty!” Yukhei’s voice booms across the yard as he jostles Jeno forward. He raises his mug, his cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glazed over. “Let’s toast to our newest brother, Jeno!”

A chorus of cheers rises through the Black Coyotes, deafening and taking Jeno by surprise. Hands reach out to push him into the thick of the group; he’s given a plate of beans and a loaf of bread, and Yukhei helps refill his cup of beer. A flicker of warmth spreads to his toes as he takes in his surroundings and joins the fray of handshakes and pats on the back and ruffled hair.

“I’ve changed my mind!” says a tall woman, Jeno thinks her name was Sooyoung. She cards a hand through her long, wavy black hair and gives him deadly smirk. “You’re one hell of a guy! Taking on  _ that _ many men by yourself!”

She claps his shoulder roughly, but not unkindly, and still sends him sprawling to the ground.

“Hey, newbie,” Yeri says, a giggle escaping her lips when she helps him up. “You’re a bit impulsive, but you’re trustworthy.”

“Thanks to you, we had zero casualties! That’s seriously once in a lifetime,” someone else yells in disbelief, and Yeri’s yelling back in agreement, and then everyone’s shouting over each other.

Jeno pulls away from the noise, out of his depth. He spots Renjun striding towards him, sizing him up, eyes unreadable. When he reaches Jeno, he halts, takes a deep breath and whispers to his ear, barely audible over the ruckus, “Thanks for letting me down.”

It takes Jeno a second to understand what he means, but by then, Renjun’s merged back into the crowd, long gone before he could respond.  _ Whatever.  _ The commander has a weird way of showing his relief that he made it out alive.

Jeno finishes his loaf of bread, trying his best to fade away in the throng of people. Just as it starts to get a bit too suffocating, Chenle finds him in the crowd and wraps his arms tight around his waist, guiding him away from the heat to an area with fewer people but lively nonetheless. They don’t exchange any words, but there's a tacit understanding that Jeno had not only saved Chenle’s but Jisung’s life too, and this is his way of showing his gratitude.

Jeno’s eyes soften when he turns around and ruffles Chenle’s hair. Chenle pulls away with a grin, leading him to a bare patch of grass where they can sit.

“Better here?”

Jeno takes a deep breath of the fresh night air. “Yeah.”

“They’re a bit much sometimes, but they mean well,” Chenle says gravely.

“I can see that,” Jeno agrees. Then his eyes pinpoint the mug of beer on Chenle’s lap, and he frowns. “Aren’t you too young to drink?”

Chenle laughs loudly. “Tell that to Jisung; I’m only allowed one, Jisung half,” he gasps out, gesturing vaguely to the left of the inner ward.

Jeno finds Jisung staring at him, seated next to Jaemin, his hand loosely curled around the handle of an empty mug. Unlike everyone else, his eyes are clear of the influence of alcohol.

Then Jisung nods stiffly, and Chenle cackles into Jeno’s ear. Jaemin rolls his eyes, elbowing Jisung in the stomach before reaching over to pinch his cheeks with a coo. Jisung bats him away, grimacing.

“What he means to say,” Jaemin hollers afterwards, hands cupped around his mouth as Jisung hides his face behind his fingers, “is THANK YOU for saving all of our—especially Chenle’s—lives!”

Jeno dips his head in response, hiding his smile.

“You’re fucking awesome, Jeno!” Jaemin adds, after a beat. 

They lock gazes over the crackling fire.

_ One second. Two. Three. _

He blows Jeno a little kiss, then winks, and the smile he gives him is effortless, yet still seems genuine.

Jeno feels his face flush pink, blood rushing to the tip of his ears in embarrassment. He looks down as he takes another sip of his beer—must be the alcohol's fault.

Maybe it’s also the beer’s fault that Jeno feels like he’s found a home—like he no longer has to be alone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry!! this chapter has the last battle scene for a while lmao.


	4. iii. fucked up like everyone else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can’t tell if he’s lying to himself or Jaemin. Or maybe he’s telling the truth. He’s started blurring the line between the two a while ago, and now he can’t distinguish the difference anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! just a clarification (but it should be obvious in this chapter now), but jeno's keeping his identity as a prince a secret! so no one in the band is supposed to know who he + his "magic" powers.
> 
> hope u enjoy reading ~

When Jeno was seven years old, he was a beloved prince, heir to the Leonum throne. He had a father who was King, a mother who was Queen, along with doting maids and servants to care for him.

He was allergic to cats, yet he owned three named Bongsik, Seol, and Lal, one of which his servant had rescued off the streets and given to Jeno because they didn’t have the means to care for it themselves. In his spare time, Jeno liked to cuddle and play with his cats, even if he sniffled at all the cat hair. He loved his pets too much to care.

On Sunday mornings, he’d read fairy tales with his mother in the garden, or he’d clamber over his father’s shoulders and ask for a piggy ride whenever he had free time—which was a rare occasion but understandable, and Jeno learned to be grateful to have a father who loved him.

The same couldn’t be said for his childhood friend and cousin, Mark. Although Jeno's parents had told him that his uncle had changed after his aunt's sudden and unfortunate death, and that he just needed time and space to grieve, Jeno didn't think that excused the purple and yellow bruises dotting Mark's skin. Whenever he brought it up though, he was always hushed with a pat on the head, either by his parents or Mark, who took his role as the elder very seriously back then.

Jeno regrets never confronting his uncle, but then again, there wasn't anything he could do at the age of seven.

Instead, he'd forget about his scary uncle and Mark’s solemn eyes, as he and Mark explored the castle grounds and crawled through its hidden nooks and crannies, driving the maids sick with worry when they’d skid back dirty and covered with scraps, grinning from ear to ear, and just in time for their afternoon study lessons. Jeno hated studying, but Mark didn’t mind it that much. He was always fascinated by history and politics—pored over maps as he planned mock battle strategies.

Jeno's parents didn't want him learning how to fight until he was fourteen, but Mark, who was eight and already carried so much weight on his tiny shoulders, taught him with a wooden sword in secret anyway. That was when Jeno started calling him his brother instead of cousin, and Mark had flushed pink with pride.

Jeno always thought Mark deserved to be heir, and not him.

 

 

On the night before Jeno’s eighth birthday, he woke to his mother shaking him awake, cheeks stained with tears, hands trembling as she cupped his face.

“Mother?” Jeno yawned sleepily, vestiges of sleep clouding his vision.

“You have to run,” she whispered frantically. Her handmaiden hovered over her shoulder, her face looking pale. She looked as if she wanted to be anywhere else but here.

He jolted like he missed a step. “Mother, what?”

“You were right about your uncle, honey. I can’t believe he’d...his own family...” she chuckled derisively, a sob clawing at the back of her throat. “He’s a very bad man, Jeno.”

“What did he do?” Jeno said, as his mother lifted him out of bed and, with the help of the handmaiden, hurriedly got him dressed, slipping on his shoes and buttoning up his jacket. She dropped a weighty pouch of coins into his pocket, and Jeno felt himself grow more and more distressed as he was left in the dark. “Mother,” he repeated. “Did Mark hyung get hurt again?”

At this, his mother stopped. Her eyes were glassy when she shook his head. “He’ll be okay. God, that boy’s gone through enough as it is,” she said, more to himself.

Relief flooded over him. “Then what’s going on?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it and kneeled on the floor to Jeno’s eye-level. She took his open palm and laid it on her lap. Her touch was as delicate as a feather when she fitted a golden ring on his thumb, the warm metal setting a wild spark and lighting Jeno’s insides on fire.

Jeno stared down the lion design, and he immediately recognized it as the Ring of the Lions—his father’s ring.  _ “Mother,” _ he said, his voice rising in panic.

Something was terribly wrong.

She embraced him, her grip tight, and when she kissed him on the temple, her lips were lifted in a sad smile. “You can reclaim your crown, Jeno.”

Then the doors burst open.

 

 

The next morning, the people of Leonum were devastated as news of the royal family’s sudden death spread—the King slaughtered in his study room, the Queen draped over her son’s lifeless body, and her handmaiden found floating in the moat, frozen white. It was Jeno’s eighth birthday.

The next in line to ascension was his uncle, who vowed to take revenge for his kin. He blamed the assassination on their neighbouring nation, Testudo, and although the two had never been friendly, they’d never initiated war either.

But it was for a worthy cause, his uncle said; to avenge his young nephew and to take back what the Testudians had stolen that night—the Ring of the Lions.

Jeno knew better, though.

It had all been explained to him, in hasty murmurs as his mother’s handmaiden had snuck him out of the castle, just as the guards loyal to his uncle had charged into his room; she said that his uncle had been conspiring behind their backs, painstakingly gathering all his resources and luring in allies with promises of power and wealth.

Apparently, his mother had long suspected him, but Jeno's father had stubbornly defended his brother, as he believed in the old proverb that blood was thicker than water. Neither had truly thought he would go this far to betray his own family.

Jeno remembers when his uncle’s guards had caught the carriage carrying the handmaiden and him. There was a storm that night too, rain pounding on the carriage roof and wheels thundering beneath.

The handmaiden had managed to haul the carriage door off its hinges to get Jeno out. She threw him into a briar patch so thick that his uncle's guards convinced themselves that he had run off into the night. They didn't want to search it.

But Jeno hadn't run off. He'd hung there in the thorns, and he saw what they did to the handmaiden. He saw them slit her throat in the frozen moments the lightning gave him. They tossed her body into the moat, not sadistically, but without emotion or remorse either. Her eyes were blank in the water, frozen wide open in fear.

They left then, one saying that the young prince wouldn't last a week out of the comforts of his castle.

Jeno struggled to fight, but the thorns held him tight. They dug deep into his arms and legs, piercing through flesh, drops of blood welling from his cuts. He felt the buzz of power coursing through his veins from the Ring of the Lions—which was handed down from generation to generation, containing the collective power and wisdom of each Lee monarch. The ring existed as proof of the rightful successor to the throne, and its immense power was granted only to those deemed worthy at the cost of a blood price. 

But his parents were dead, and Jeno felt like he might fade to black for a while. Panic overtook him until he grasped onto his mom's words whenever she used to find him curled in a corner, afraid of the sound of thunder and lightning:  _ “Breathe.” _

_ In, out, _ until the strange, swimmy feeling faded away, replaced with a burning sense of anger. His heart erupted, so disastrously, so significantly, so  _ overwhelming, _ that the skies lit up and the cosmos spun, engulfing him in a fiery ball of red flames.

His heart was on fire, but he kept his head down, tears staining his cheeks. The only thing he could hear between the sound of pouring rain and his thundering heart were his mother's last words:

_ “Reclaim your crown.” _

So Jeno vowed for revenge.

 

 

 

♛

 

 

 

Jeno wakes in cold sweat, his heart thundering and tears pricking his eyes. He bunches his blankets in his hands, tugging them close. He hasn't had that particular dream in ages, but every once in a while, it'll come creeping back, and he'll recall the events from that night with vivid clarity. The burning anger would always come rushing back for the first few seconds when he's dazed with sleep, but then it'll fizzle out, quickly, until all that's left is sorrow.

Jeno had vowed for revenge, but his uncle is already dead. A sudden fever had killed him in the course of three days, four years after his parents’ death. Some might say the fates finally struck him down.

The new King Regent, Taeyong, is benevolent and well loved by the people. He wants to end the war with Testudo—a war that Jeno's uncle had started in the first place, that war-loving bastard—as soon as possible, before stepping down and letting the next in line, Prince Mark, succeed to the throne. It’ll likely be happening soon, at the rate the Black Coyotes are helping Leonum win their battles and, thus, the war.

"Rise and shine, commander," Jaemin coos softly, stepping into Jeno’s tent with a small smile. He hasn’t put on his armour yet. His white cotton shirt dips low to show his sternum and his breeches hang loosely over his hips. His sabre remains sheathed, but present. Relaxed, but always alert.

Jeno straightens, attempting a smile in return. “G’morning, Nana.”

Honey brown eyes swivel to him in concern. “You okay?” Jaemin asks.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” Jeno reassures, forcefully lightening his tone. He ends up sounding strained instead. "Aren’t we supposed to go over our battle plans today? I still need to get ready, but you can go ahead first if you wanna."

It’s been three years since Jeno had joined the Black Coyotes. He’s now commander of the merc band alongside Renjun, and they each lead a part of band on the battlefield. But, of course, Jaemin’s still the one who holds all authority.

“We have lots of time,” Jaemin says, a mischievous smirk curling his lips, and that’s all the warning Jeno gets before the leader of the Black Coyotes lands on top of him, wrapping his arms around his chest and nuzzling his head into the crook of his neck.

“You’re so needy.” Jeno rolls his eyes, but pats Jaemin’s head anyway, because he also craves physical affection.

“Shut up. You looked like you needed a hug,” Jaemin mumbles into his shirt. “It’s okay if you're not okay. You don’t have to say anything, but don’t pretend for me. Please.”

Jeno opens his mouth to retort, then falters, the words stuck in the back of his throat. He bites his bottom lip and lets Jaemin snuggle closer, tucking himself under the blankets. Warmth spreads over his cheeks and up his ears, but thankfully, Jaemin doesn’t seem to notice.

The near-death experiences that they’ve continuously dealt with together over the years have developed into an unbreakable bond between the two—a bond built on trust and mutual respect. So when they’re by themselves, like now, they’re equals. Just Jeno and Jaemin, two boys tired of pretending to be men.

Jeno’s too tired to convince himself otherwise.

 

 

When Renjun finds them later, fast asleep under a pile of blankets, he yanks Jeno up by the ear and drags him out of the tent.

“You made me wait for ages,” he grumbles, ignoring Jeno’s little yelps of pain. “The meeting was supposed to happen an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry! I wanted to get up, but Jaemin was the one who insisted on sleeping in instead!”

Renjun throws Jaemin a disgruntled look, but doesn’t say anything. His eyes are bright, though, and it looks like he’s trying desperately to stifle a chuckle as he continues to pull Jeno by the ear. The latter has to bend down to match Renjun’s height.

“Oh, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” Jeno says, realization settling in. “You just wanted an excuse to cause me pain.”

“Nonsense,” Renjun deadpans.

“Are short people so sadistic…” Jeno muses aloud, “because they’re closer to hell than the rest of us?”

_ “What did you just say?” _

“Nothing, nothing! Ow, Renjun, you’re gonna yank off my ear!”

Jaemin trails behind them, an amused smile on his face. “You might be onto something, Jeno. And since we’re taller, doesn’t that mean we’re closer to heaven compared to Renjunnie?”

The glare Renjun sends him, leader or not, is murderous, and, once again, Jeno wonders how he and Jaemin are still alive at this point.

A few members of the Black Coyote are up too, eating their breakfast or gambling with dice in small groups—but no one bats an eye at the sight of the three highest in commands bickering like idiots. Nor do they ponder much on the thought that their leader and one of their commanders had exited a tent together, both looking ruffled by sleep. Because no matter how many times Jeno’s told them otherwise, half of them have already jumped to the conclusion that he and Jaemin are actually sleeping together.  _ Fucking dumbasses. _

Even if Jeno’s keeping his identity a secret—a secret that would probably change their whole dynamic, maybe even rip apart their friendship—they’re still the closest of friends. Nothing less and nothing more.

Renjun releases his ear when they enter Jaemin’s tent, finally out of sight from everyone else. The leader has the most extravagant tent with a tall ceiling and enough room inside it to place a makeshift table with drawn maps and handcrafted figurines of the enemy. The more battles they’ve won for Leonum, the more money they’ve received to be able to afford such luxuries. Not that the Black Coyotes were in bad shape when Jeno had joined them initially, but he’s seen them grown in leaps and bounds since then. In a way, he’s proud to say he’s been a part of the journey.

He's spent three years with the Black Coyotes, whom he now calls his comrades—brothers and sisters in all but blood.

Three years fighting by Jaemin’s side.

And—

“Our battle in five days, with luck, will be our last one for a while,” Jaemin says, schooling his features to don on a more serious look, his hands folded over his lap from his seat in the corner. He had been watching in silence as Renjun and Jeno had calmed down and put their heads together to come up with a foolproof strategy. Well, more like brush up on Jaemin’s existing plan to see if they could find any faults. They’ve only made minor adjustments so far.

Renjun nods shortly. “It’s gonna be tough. Your plan’s brilliant, sure, but sounds impossible.”

“But if we do take on that fortress’ force of  _ thirty fucking thousand,  _ and emerge victoriously, then Leonum practically wins the war against Testudo,” says Jaemin. “It’s their last defence, and they’d probably surrender afterwards.”

He rises to his feet with cat-like agility, stalking over to the table in a few short seconds. The two commanders part ways for him, letting their leader through.

“I like what you did with the adjustments,” he says, assessing the maps and figurines laid out. “I knew it was a good decision to make Jeno one of my commanders, even with the initial rivalry between you guys."

“What initial rivalry?” Renjun scoffs. “It’s pretty obvious I was and will always be superior to him.”

Jeno sticks out his tongue. “I can beat you in a sword fight in five seconds flat.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Jaemin cuts them off before they can pull out their swords (they’re notorious for starting impromptu duels) and throws his arms around both of their shoulders, pulling them close into a halfhearted group hug. He smells like clean cotton and spring, and Jeno leans in before he can help himself.

“The King Regent entrusts me to win this battle; he believes in the Black Coyotes, but he also has nothing to lose if we fail. It'll just be another merc band gone for good," Jaemin says, his voice raw and eyes alit with determination as he scours the maps again, picking apart every detail and putting them back together. "Lots of the stuck-up nobles think we'll fail too. They think my confidence in the band will be my downfall, and they'd do anything to see it happen. If we don't succeed..."

“We will,” Jeno promises immediately.

“I know I said it sounded impossible, but knowing you, you’d make it happen anyway,” says Renjun.

Jaemin smirks, as if he knew that’s what they’d say. He turns to face Renjun, before resting his gaze on Jeno. He smiles, crinkling the corner of his eyes. "Thanks for always supporting me, you two."

"Of course, we're your best friends, you idiot,” Renjun grunts in embarrassment. He squeezes Jaemin's shoulder lightly, then pulls away, eyes elsewhere when he speaks. “Fuck those noblemen; they won't stop struggling until they feel our teeth wrapped around their flimsy throats."

Jaemin lets him go with a small smile, but keeps Jeno close. He’s slouched over, so when he tilts his head back to laugh, his hair tickles Jeno's cheeks. "They'd be begging for their lives when I'm King," he tells Renjun.

“Half of them will rather die than let you be King,” Renjun says.

Jaemin snickers. “Please, they’d do anything to save their own skin.”

Jeno stays quiet, careful not to let his grip tighten around Jaemin as they talk. When he had escaped the briar bush the night of his parents’ death, he had miraculously survived the wilderness for three days until the wife of a lone mercenary had found him and taken him in. The merc, an old man with a permanent frown etched into his face, had trained Jeno how to fight with a sword, how to defend himself—and how to kill.

All his life, he’d been preparing to avenge his parents, but when news of his uncle’s sudden death had spread across the kingdom, he had felt nothing but emptiness. What had kept him going all those years was suddenly taken away from him. He had been stripped of his purpose and had been wandering without aim.

_ “Reclaim your crown,”  _ the voice whispers in his head.

But he doesn’t want it… Why doesn’t he want it?

“Hey,” Jaemin whispers, snapping his fingers to catch his attention, breaking him out of his reverie. Their eyes meet. “Whatcha thinking about?”

There are times on the battlefield when the odds are stacked against them and Jaemin raises the band’s morale with his overpowering confidence, his chin tilted high, sword raised in the air. Sometimes, as Jeno lunges himself into battle, he can feel Jaemin’s presence backing him up, strong and steady.

It’s incredible. Uniting a band of mercenaries for a higher cause other than pocket money is near damn impossible, but Jaemin manages to inspire loyalty with his charisma and cunningness. Although many of the members of the Black Coyotes have their personal goals, they’re all rooting for Jaemin to become King.

_ No,  _ they sincerely believe he can do it.

Who else, but Jaemin, can create such a miracle? He’s already achieved so much, so what’s stopping him from ruling a kingdom too?

He shakes his head ruefully. “Thinking that you’ll make a great king, Nana.”

Jaemin pinches his cheeks. “Aw, thanks! And you’ll be by my side too, won’t you?”

“...Yeah.”

He can’t tell if he’s lying to himself or Jaemin. Or maybe he’s telling the truth. He’s started blurring the line between the two a while ago, and now he can’t distinguish the difference anymore.

Jaemin’s eyes are bright when he grabs Jeno’s hands, jumping up and down in joy. He teases Jeno’s reddening face, and Jeno wishes this peaceful moment could last forever.

It’s scary how he knows he’d follow Jaemin to hell and back. Deep down, Jeno knows he’s getting too attached, and it’s dangerous to let this—whatever  _ this  _ is—go on.

He feels the weight of Renjun’s gaze, but when he turns to face him, all he gets is a knowing and sympathetic smile.

Beneath his shirt, the Ring of the Lions burns against his skin.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it for jeno's past. pls tell me if anything's confusing or if i wasn't clear on something? the only thing i still really have left to explain is how the ring works, but that'll be a bit later.
> 
> next chapter is finally when nomin actually kinda starts happening. (and it's longer! yay!)


	5. iv. these rose-tinted glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When I acted drunk earlier, I was messing with you. I didn't actually have too much to drink," Jaemin confesses in a low tone.
> 
> “And what about now?” Jeno asks, hesitant.
> 
> “What do you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big oof.

There’s a tense moment of stupor, where it feels like everyone is holding their breath, swords and bows hung at their sides as a loud cry pierces the air. Multiple white coyotes, stark against a pitch black background, ripple in the wind as Renjun and his unit lift the band’s banners high into the sky. Somewhere amongst the sea of black and white, Jeno spots a pale red flag representing Leonum.

With Jeno leading the vanguard and serving as bait for the enemy to approach, and Jaemin joining the fray with the main force, Renjun and his team had managed to sneak in and recapture the fortress, wiping out all opposing threats in the process.

They really did it. A fortress of thirty thousand brought down by a single merc band. It’s a victory for the Black Coyotes and, as a result, Leonum.

Even though he has to strain himself to move his arms, sore from all the fighting, Jeno heaves his broadsword up, joining in with the roars of triumph that had erupted an instant later. He sees Yukhei throwing off his helmet and beating his fists against his chest as he yells, and Jisung lowering his sword with a glad smile on his face.

There’s red splattered on Jeno’s cheeks, and when he dismounts his horse, his boots squelch in puddles of blood. He’s too used to the sight of bloodshed for his stomach to feel queasy, but his heart twinges in regret anyway. It was to kill or be killed, and there’s nothing he can do anymore except reach down and hold the man in front of him—a stranger and once an enemy—and close his eyes for him.

He hears someone waiting behind him patiently, so when Jeno finishes paying his respects and turns around, he isn’t surprised to find Jaemin a few metres away, his helmet off, and his hair sweaty and dirty with specks of dried blood.

He’s grinning because they’ve won, but there’s also a sort of sadness reflected in his honey brown eyes, just like there always is after they lose comrades on the battlefield. It’s a victory and a loss at the same time, but for the sake of the band, Jaemin has to put on a strong front.

Jeno doesn’t ask if he’s okay and neither does Jaemin. They already know the answer.

It doesn't matter who takes the first step; they both need each other—to feel the other person’s warmth and know they’ve survived this long and are still  _ very much alive. _ Although Jaemin's the one who envelopes Jeno in his blue cloak and tugs him close, it's Jeno who shields Jaemin's shuddering from the rest of the world.

It takes a while before the tension in Jaemin's shoulders uncoils, and he sighs, his eyes fluttering shut then opening again, furiously working to blink away his tears. He ducks his head, hunching over to rest his forehead on Jeno's shoulder and mutters something so quietly that Jeno would have missed it if he weren't paying attention,

"Thank you."

He smiles gently. “Anytime.”

 

 

♛

 

 

Reinforcements from Leonum finally arrive several hours later to help keep the fortress, and a messenger from the King Regent announces that, to express his forever gratitude, the King Regent Taeyong is willing to spread his benevolence and dub all the members, even the no-names, of the merc band as Knights of Leonum. Jaemin, on the other hand, will be given an even higher title as a Viscount.

The messenger’s words are filled with veiled insults and disdain, but the message from the Regent is clear: Jaemin’s kept his word, and this is his reward. 

The band celebrates the night before their new peerage, ambling down the streets of the town nearby and stuffing themselves into a small rundown tavern. They chant “To the Black Coyotes!” then “To Jaemin Na!” as they fill their cups with ale and down them in big gulps. There’s an abundance of food on their tables and music playing in the corner of the crowded room.

“Are you okay?” Jeno asks when Renjun, his arms wrapped in bandages, carefully squeezes himself into the tiny space between Jeno and Yukhei. Chenle and Jisung sit across from them and mimic his expression of concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. A few cuts and slashes here and there, but nothing that won’t heal in a couple of days,” Renjun says. He grins. “I got off easy compared to Yukhei.”

“Whatcha talking about?” Yukhei snorts into his drink and proudly puffs out his chest. “Unlike you, I barely got a scratch! Besides, I don’t feel pain.” He brightens up again a second later. “Oh, right!Speaking of pain, Jeno, did I ever tell you about the time I joined the Black Coyotes? It was right after—”

Renjun reaches over and flicks Yukhei’s forehead, covered with bandages, with his index finger. 

“Ow, be careful!” Yukhei yelps, doubling over.

“Sorry, felt the urge since you said you didn’t feel pain—which is obviously a fucking lie, by the way,” Renjun drawls, propping his elbows on the table and taking a delicate sip from his beer ( _ how does he do it like that? _ Jeno wonders). “Anyway, you were saying?”

After his puppy eyes fail to thaw Renjun’s cold and impassive stare, Yukhei pouts. "As I was saying, when I met Boss, it was right after I woke up at crack ass of dawn, and when I'm tired, I can't think straight—"

"Or at all," interjects Jisung.

"You're not even straight?" adds Chenle.

"—and it was the morning after a wild night out so, really, if anyone is at fault, it's Seulgi, because she was the one who dragged me to the bar anyway. Or, you know what? Let's blame society. Economic disparity. How the unequal distribution of wealth fattens up the nobles and forces the rest of us to drink cheap booze to escape from our problems—"

"Yukhei," Renjun exhales exasperatedly. He presses his fingertips against Yukhei's forearm. "Get back on track."

Jeno hasn't had enough to drink for this kind of conversation—even though he's long left the life of royalty and class differences has literally existed since centuries ago, he still feels partially responsible for Yukhei's past circumstances—so when the waitress walks by, he asks for a refill and tips his head back, letting the alcohol burn down his throat and settle warmly in his belly.

Renjun watches him, his lips in a thin line. Then he looks away just as quickly, bringing his attention back to Yukhei.

“Alright, sorry.” Yukhei scratches the back of his head with a sheepish grin. His eyes flicker to Jeno. “You ever noticed how Boss doesn’t like wearing his armour around?”

Jeno has to pause and think about it for a bit before hesitantly saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, he wasn’t wearing his armour back then either, and I was so out of it that I didn’t see his sword and accidentally mistook him for Jungwoo, my ex—crazy, right?—and when I tried to hug him, he nearly chopped off my head, which I guess is understandable. If a random guy tried to wrestle me down from behind, I’d probably do the same.”

“What?” Jeno says.

“Did you ever realize that you’re kinda dumb, hyung? I’ve met Jungwoo hyung; he and Jaemin hyung look nothing alike,” Jisung states bluntly.

“And why would you try to hug your ex?” Chenle says.

“As I said, I was tired. Plus Jungwoo and I are on friendly terms.” Yukhei shrugs, waving his hand vaguely. “So then, I realized he wasn’t my past beloved, got into a sword fight, and lost. Badly. Then Seulgi came along, tried to defend my honour, and ended up on the ground too.”

He takes a deep breath, clearly waiting.

“What happened next?” Jeno indulges him. He already has a bad feeling about this. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how vicious Jaemin is until he sees him in action, his sabre glinting, wicked sharp.

“He didn’t kill us, obviously. He told us we were wasting away our talent and asked Seulgi and me to join his band. We refused, of course, because our pride was hurt, and we didn’t want some prick ordering us around… But then he promised us lots of money in return, and we couldn’t say no.”

“Seriously? That’s all it took?” Chenle interrupts. He rests his chin on his hands, his eyebrows furrowed contemplatively. Even Jisung looks troubled (Jeno suspects that, to this day, the kid still looks up to Jaemin the most).

“Not everyone comes from a rich family, Lele. Money’s kinda a huge deal for some of us,” Yukhei reprimands, but not harshly. Chenle immediately blanches and opens his mouth to apologize, but Yukhei mouths ‘it’s okay’ and waves him off with a wink. “And that’s how I joined the Black Coyotes! I gotta say, Boss’s swordsmanship is really out of this world. Everyone else pales in comparison. Well, except for Jeno. What did you think about my story, by the way?”

Jeno blinks. He takes another sip from his cup—he thinks it’s his third beer, but he isn’t sure anymore, with how distorted his sense of surroundings is getting—and scrunches his nose, at a sudden loss of words. “Fine,” he ends up saying.

“Fine? That’s all you have to say?” Yukhei huffs. 

“I was kinda expecting something more—” Jeno scrambles to find the right word, but his mind comes up blank.

“Something a lot more fucking interesting. I’ve heard the story about a million times already, and it hasn’t gotten any better,” Renjun quips. He massages Yukhei’s shoulder gratuitously, and the latter winces in pain.

Renjun lets go. “Oh, Yukhei,” he says, in the type of voice typically reserved for tragically injured puppies, “I thought you didn’t feel pain.”

“Renjunnie! I’m sorry for what I said earlier; I  _ do  _ have more injuries than you and I  _ do  _ feel pain,” Yukhei whines, throwing his hands up in defence. Renjun snickers. Slumping back into his seat, Yukhei curls his lips in a petulant pout. “And you can’t call my origin story boring. That’s just mean. I’d like to see the rest of you try!”

Jeno’s already heard how the majority of the others had first encountered Jaemin and the Black Coyotes, but he listens attentively anyway, as Chenle recounts how he ran away from home because, although his parents were rich, they were also major assholes and never treated him right. He had wandered the streets scared and alone until he came across Jaemin’s band celebrating in a tavern, just like the one they’re in right now. He had felt something different about them (they even had girls as members!) so Chenle had asked to join afterwards, and Jaemin had accepted without hesitation.

Jisung had joined after both Yukhei and Chenle. He was an orphan and a street urchin, and Jaemin was actually the one who tried to recruit him after he successfully pickpocketed members of the Black Coyotes several times. Jaemin had personally trained and polished his skills in swordsmanship. That’s probably the reason why Jisung is so deadly in battle.

Jaemin had taken all of them under his wings, and they had all stayed, even if it was initially for money or for a place to call home. They each, with time, found solace within the band. Jeno feels the same way, but he shouldn’t get attached, because he needs to leave before the knighting ceremony tomorrow.

Soon.

But not yet.

_ Just a little longer. _

“I’m a little different,” Renjun says, when it’s his turn to speak. Jeno perks up; now that he thinks about it, he’s never gotten the chance to ask Renjun how he joined. All he knows is that Renjun’s been in the band the longest out of the five of them. “I first met Jaemin when I was—”

“Hey, hey! I’ve been looking for you  _ everywhere!”  _ Jaemin slams his hands down onto the table, nearly tipping it over. There’s a feral smile on his face. His eyes have this droopy, dazed look to them, any traces of sadness all gone, and his cheeks are rosy. “Jeno, my man, my one and only, the love of my fucking love!”

“Don’t swear in front of the child,” Renjun says dully.

“You just said ‘fuck’ a few minutes ago too, and I’m literally seventeen, hyung,” Jisung spits back.

“Who says I was talking about you?”

“Who else would you be talking about?”

“Anyway!” Jaemin proclaims loudly, straining his voice to be heard over all the ruckus. “I’m happy to see you’re all getting along  _ wonderfully. _ It’s great. Keep on going!” His gaze swivels towards Jeno, and he pauses. He looks confused by his own actions.

Jeno raises an eyebrow. “You said you were looking for me?”

“Oh, right! Come on. I wanna talk to you in private.”

He grabs hold of Jeno’s sleeve and drags him out of his seat. Chenle waves them goodbye as the crowd parts like the red sea, clearing them a path to the tavern’s exit. Sooyoung blows them a kiss, and Jeno tries not to spend too much time mulling over Yeri’s questionable hand motions beside her.

“See the rest of ya guys tomorrow! Don't forget to clean yourselves up for the knighting ceremony!” Jaemin calls over his shoulder.

The band cheers in response and stomp their feet in approval, their excitement getting the better of them at the reminder of their soon-to-be new title as knights, and with it, the money and prestige that’ll follow. It’s their chance at a new life. More drinks are refilled and passed around, and Jeno catches the look of despair on the poor tavern owner's face before Jaemin swings the door shut behind them.

"Don't you love birds have too much fun without us!" someone shouts from inside of the bar, but by then, Jaemin's already leading him away and doesn't seem to have heard the comment.

His touch is warm, his slim fingers curled around Jeno's wrist, and Jeno flushes, hoping Jaemin doesn't mind his sweaty hand. But at a cursory glance, he can already tell the other is drunk out of his wits, even more so than Jeno.

"What did you want to talk about?" Jeno asks, tugging his hand back gently in question, but Jaemin's so out of it that he loses his balance, stumbling, tipping back with his eyes blown wide open. Jeno has to rush to catch him and keep him steady with his fingers splayed over Jaemin's back. The tip of their noses brushes against each other before he remembers to jerk away a moment later.

"Let's find somewhere private to talk," Jaemin suggests.

"But there's no one else around—"

Jaemin places his index finger on his lips to shush him, and for some reason, Jeno feels tipsier than Jaemin and his sudden clear honey brown eyes. Despite himself, he nods, barely, and follows a staggering Jaemin to wherever he plans to go. They stumble down the streets, further away from the hubbub at the tavern, and into the shadowy back alleyway behind a quiet inn, out of reach from the light of the street lanterns hanging near the front of the building.

"Come on," says Jaemin, gesturing up at the vine and leaf-covered wall before him. The building is three stories tall. He latches onto a piece of vine and heaves himself up, digging the tip of his shoes in the shallow grooves in the wall.

"This is such a bad fucking idea," Jeno lowly hisses.

"Oh, quit worrying so much. I climbed this wall a few years ago."

"Yeah, but I bet you weren't piss drunk last time!"

"I'm fine." By now, Jaemin's halfway up the building. "Hurry up! The view up there is amazing."

He stares at Jaemin's back for a while, doubt gnawing at the bottom his stomach, but Jaemin must not be as drunk as he appears, because he never falters or misses a step. So Jeno concedes with a final 'why-am-i-doing-this' sigh, and grips a dangling vine, hoisting himself up to follow Jaemin—the charismatic leader of the most feared merc band, Viscount as of tomorrow, and brilliant strategist…

Also a risk taker with no concern of his own fucking life.

He accidentally says the last part aloud, and Jaemin says, brightly, “You’re the one who likes putting himself in danger.”

“Not by trying to scale a damn wall while wasted. I’m not sure why I’m doing this, to be honest.”

"It's cuz you love me!" he singsongs.

And well, he's not exactly wrong, but no one, not even Jeno himself, has to know that. He huffs. "Just shut up and focus on not falling to your death."

"Stop being such a worry-wart," Jaemin drawls, but Jeno hears the smile in his voice.

The inn’s roof is a bit weird; different in the sense that it has a flatter surface than most do, making it easier for them to lie down when they reach the top.

"Isn't it pretty?" Jaemin whispers in the hush of the night breeze. He gestures up, pointing at the streaks of light brimming the sky—the glowing moon and the endless bounds of stars orbiting around it. He turns to Jeno, relaxed, his eyelashes fluttering and his gaze remarkably candid.

Jeno stares back. "Yeah."

Jaemin drops his hand. "I like it here, closer to the sky. It’s kinda dumb, but it makes me feel as if all I have to do is try  _ a bit _ more and push myself  _ a bit _ further to reach the stars. To reach my dream."

“It’s not dumb. We won the battle no one thought we could win, and you'll be named Viscount tomorrow,” Jeno says sincerely. “You’re already a step closer today compared to yesterday, so please, don't give up.”

It’ll be easier for Jeno if he does give up, because then they won’t have to go to the capital of Leonum, where Mark and all the other nobles who might recognize Jeno will be. If Jaemin gives up, Jeno would be able to stay by his side for a much longer time.

But Jaemin’s ambition is what makes him Jaemin Na, and Jeno doesn’t want to lose that either.

Jaemin hums in agreement. "I wasn't planning on it. Just felt a little weary, that's all." He props himself up on his elbows. He doesn’t speak for a while, and Jeno lets the silence wash over them, waiting. "I didn't really have anything in mind when I said I wanted to talk to you," Jaemin begins again. "I just wanted to spend some time with one of my best friends."

There it is. The dreaded word.

_ Best friend. _

Because that's all they are and ever will be, and Jeno needs to snap out of whatever fantasy he has for something more. The thought quickly sobers him up.

"But I do wanna mention how the battle went today."

"What about it?" Jeno asks. "Is it about the number of casualties? We lost very little compared to what we expected, though."

One was still one too many, but as grim as it sounds, Jeno's used to death. It's one of the many risks of being a mercenary, even one under Jaemin's command. He suspects everyone in the band feels the same way.

"No, I know that can't be helped," Jaemin says, voice forlorn. "I wanted to talk about how our victory depended on two things: Renjun and his team infiltrating the fortress—which he succeeded in doing spectacularly—and you charging head first then retreating to lure the enemy out. After you defeated their commander and Renjun seized the castle, they had no choice but to surrender."

Jeno blinks, unsure of where he was going with this. "Right. It was your plan, and it worked brilliantly. I think the whole band agrees with me, with how loudly they were cheering your name. We even—"

"I'm sorry I put you in the very frontline," Jaemin cuts him off.

Jeno frowns. "I'd rather it be me than anyone else."

"Don't say that."

"It's true, though. I’m a commander and your best fighter. It’s my duty to lead the charge."

“Does it matter if it’s your duty?” Jaemin lets out a sigh. "You know, I lost sight of you mid-battle. I was supposed to have your back and make sure you stayed alive.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, pausing before continuing. “The last thing I saw was you with their monster of a commander, but then afterwards, he was running his sword through someone else, and I couldn’t find you anywhere."

"He  _ was _ awfully strong and built like a fucking bear," Jeno explains with a grumble. "But, really, Jaemin, I don't mind. It took multiple tries, true, but I did defeat him in the end."

"I don't care if you did!” Jaemin explodes. When Jeno grabs his arm, worried that he’d slip off the roof in his burst of anger, Jaemin visibly forces himself to calm down and sits up, bringing his knees close to his chest.

“What do you mean?” Jeno asks quietly.

“I thought you were  _ dead, _ Jeno," Jaemin finally says after a tense moment of silence, voice coloured with raw emotion.

Jeno’s heart stutters to a stop. He sits up alongside Jaemin, ignoring the strange sense of vertigo he gets, trying desperately to remember what happened after the battle when they saw each other. He remembers the hug, the sadness his Jaemin’s eyes—and his tears. "Is that why you were crying earlier?"

Jaemin avoids his gaze and nods. "I've already lost so many friends and family, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you too."

"Nana..."

"But you survived. Not only that, but you fucking won and executed the plan perfectly." Jaemin reaches over, slotting their fingers together, his palm rough and calloused from handling a sword all his life. Just like Jeno’s. Vaguely, at the back of his mind, Jeno thinks their hands fit together nicely. "I don’t get it. It's like there's this  _ magic _ in you. It’s like, even though you keep on throwing yourself into perilous situations, there’s something in you keeping you alive. Like you yourself are magic."

“I—” He isn’t sure how to respond without telling Jaemin about the Ring of the Lions and revealing his true identity, shattering any semblance of trust between them while he’s at it. He's already standing on a mountain of lies, and anything else he says will be adding more onto it. Jeno finds himself unwilling, and bites his lips, conflicted.

“I’m sorry, you don’t need to explain anything. I know I sound crazy.” Jaemin lets out a dry laugh. “I promise I won’t send you out to the front without me. So don’t scare me like that ever again. As your leader, that’s an order.”

“... Okay.”

He wonders if the order still applies after his imminent departure from the band.

Jaemin changes the subject later, sounding apologetic for bringing down the mood. They talk for a bit, and the wind catches fragments of their murmurs, whisking them away into the night.

Time continues, trickling like sand through Jeno’s fingers, and despite how much he wants to preserve the moment of peace between the two of them, the alcohol starts to ebb off and the air grows cold. They head back, but instead of dropping down to the pavement, Jaemin kicks open a window on the second floor and climbs over the ledge. The room inside is dark and empty.

Jeno whistles at their luck. “What if someone was inside?”

"Impossible. I’m friends with the innkeeper, Mr Moon, and he let me book this room ahead of time," Jaemin replies with a little smirk. He jerks his chin towards the table in the corner of the room, where Jeno can barely make out the shape of a glass bottle of wine sitting beside two metal goblets.

He raises an eyebrow. "Where'd that come from?"

"I bought it from Mr Moon," Jaemin divulges. "It was hella expensive though, so it better be worth it. You'll drink with me, right?"

"Sure. I could definitely use a couple more drinks."

By the time Jeno finds a wooden splint to light up a candle and brighten up the room, after he closes the window and places his and Jaemin’s swords within reach near the beds, Jaemin’s cracked open the bottle of wine and poured a generous amount in the two cups.

“Have a seat,” he says.

Jeno complies, settling into the wooden chair across from Jaemin. “Are we toasting to anything?” he asks.

“Do you have something in mind?”

“Not really.”

“Then, no. Let’s just drink.” Jaemin raises his goblet, and Jeno mirrors his movement. Their drinks clink against each other. "Cheers," Jaemin says.

"Cheers," Jeno echoes.

He waits for Jaemin to take the first sip before doing the same.

The last time he had tried wine was when he and Mark had snagged a bottle of sweet plum wine from the castle kitchens. They had hidden away in Mark's room and had taken turns gulping down the alcohol before their governess found them, red-faced, tears in their eyes, and giggling madly. Jeno's never tasted a drink as sweet as he had back then, and he's never regretted swiping it, even though his mother had given both him and Mark an earful when the governess had informed her of their deed.

Since then, he’s only drunk cheap beer, sometimes whiskey or strong vodka when he wants to forget, and although they taste like piss compared to the sweet plum wine from his childhood, they eventually grow on him. But the supposedly 'precious' and 'expensive' red wine burns bitter and sour down his throat. 

"Tastes like shit," Jeno concludes, grimacing as he slams his cup back down onto the table, three-quarters full.

Jaemin bursts out in laughter. "Damn right! I dunno why it cost me a pretty penny when it tastes the fucking same as any other booze we can get from the bar. It's worse, even."

"Probably an 'acquired' taste."

"Fuck that," Jaemin sneers. "It's cuz the rich are insecure, and the only way they can feel superior is by drinking piss wine the lower class can't afford."

"You really hate the nobles, don't you?" Jeno asks with a small, contrite smile. It’s understandable.

"Not all of them," Jaemin replies after a moment of consideration. "Some of them are creeps, some are assholes, while others aren't. I only truly hate the idea of them, because I'm jealous of how much power they possess. But recently, I realized..." he trails off, his eyebrows furrowed, a troubled look on his face.

Jeno leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. "Realized what?"

"Never mind," Jaemin exhales heavily.

Jeno raises his eyebrows, but at Jaemin's pleading look, he doesn't pry.

Despite their mutual dislike towards the red wine, neither of them makes a move to stop drinking. They resume their conversation from the rooftop earlier—something about Jaemin's stallion, Nox, and his unhealthy obsession of eating a ridiculous amount of sugar cubes, a habit that he took after his owner.

Eventually, the bitter taste of wine fades away—grows tolerable, even.

With how little they’ve consumed, Jeno knows neither of them is drunk—a little tipsy, if he were to stretch it. But there's a muted buzz in his ears, and the rest of the world blurs into a mix of light and shadows as Jaemin grows silent and tugs his hand, leading him to one of the beds. They sit on the edge, the wooden boards creaking beneath them, and without warning, Jaemin drops his head, tilting his chin down, leaning close. Jeno feels the blood rushing to his cheeks and up to the tip of his ears. He’s hot all of a sudden, his skin flushed.

Jaemin's close enough for Jeno to make out each individual eyelash casting a spidery shadow on his cheekbones. His eyes twinkle in the warm glow of room’s candlelight. Jeno can feel every hard line of Jaemin’s lean frame, and the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes.

"When I acted drunk earlier, I was messing with you. I didn't actually have too much to drink," Jaemin confesses in a low tone.

“And what about now?” Jeno asks, hesitant.

“What do you think?”

Due to their proximity, their breaths mingle into one, and Jeno can smell the wine clinging to their skin and clothes. But Jaemin’s eyes are clear and completely self-aware, and only the tinge of pink dusting over his cheeks betrays him.

Jaemin’s eyes remain startlingly clear when he kisses Jeno. It’s completely off centre, and a little wet because Jeno’s just licked his lips. He turns his head slightly to reciprocate Jaemin, and registers the feeling vaguely, in a distant, pleasant sort of way. It takes him much longer for his brain to catch up, taken by surprise.

Rather than the wine, maybe he’s drunk off of Jaemin.

Jaemin pulls back. “Are you okay with this?” he asks, his usual display of confidence gone, replaced by a slight wobble in his voice.

There are so many questions running through his head ( _ what are we? Friends? Lovers? _ ), so many issues left unsolved, so many secrets still buried, but despite all that, Jeno nods and mumbles,

“Yes.”

This time, when their lips meet, it’s at a perfect angle, and Jeno snakes his arms around Jaemin’s waist to hold him close, in his arms—something they’ve done on a daily basis but in a different context. Jaemin feels solid in his hold, and when he sighs shakily against Jeno’s mouth, a warm feeling flutters in Jeno’s stomach.

It’s nice. Refreshing. It feels like he’s been parched for years, and this is his first sip of water. Jaemin parts his lips, bringing a hand up to thumb along Jeno’s jaw and coax him to do the same, and when their tongues brush, Jeno shivers.

Jaemin pulls back, his lips curling into a satisfied grin. Then he surges forward again, and Jeno meets him halfway. Again, and again.

They break apart when the candlelight finally starts to flicker, the room dimming, and Jaemin looks ready to fall asleep at any second. Jeno expects a bit of a protest as he unlaces the other boy’s boots, slipping them off to tuck him into bed, but Jaemin wordlessly complies.

He does whine when Jeno makes a move to leave, his kiss-swollen lips pressed in an uneven pout.

“What is it?” Jeno asks fondly.

“Stay,” Jaemin murmurs, gripping onto his sleeve.

“There’s another bed right there.”

“Please, Jeno.”

There’s something oddly vulnerable in his eyes, and Jeno hesitates for a moment before toeing off his shoes and joining Jaemin underneath the covers. Jaemin subconsciously curls into him. His hair tickles his chin; it’s mussed and squashed, and Jeno cards his fingers through his hair, loosening the knots.

“I didn't think I'd like kissing so much,” Jaemin announces lightly.

Jeno drops his hand. “What do you mean?”

“My first kiss was with Renjun, when we were kids, and we both agreed it was disgusting.” Then he pauses, and swallows, hard, as if there’s a thick lump in his throat. “Other times, it was with this old Baron who wanted favours from me in exchange for providing the band with equipment and weapons. This was before we were well-known, so money had been tight back then.”

“He forced you?” Jeno asks. He tries to keep his voice level, but he’s not sure if he succeeds.

The old merc who had taken him in when he was little had warned him of the creepy men who would want to take advantage of young and pretty boys like him. He'd never let Jeno roam alone, and when he finally did, it was after he was sure Jeno could fend for himself. Jeno never had the issue of lack of money either, since after he became independent, his merc jobs paid him well and he only had to take care of himself.

But Jaemin had to take care of a whole band, and he didn't come from a rich background, nor did it seem like he had parents who watched over him.

Jaemin sneers. “It was a mutual exchange. I was desperate at that time, cuz we had a battle coming up and with our supplies depleted, there was no way we could've won. He said he’d provide us with anything that was necessary if we kissed, and when he tried to take it further, I threatened to cut off his dick. I dunno how, but it worked out in the end, and we got our supplies.”

“But—”

“I only wanted to explain why I’ve never had a good and proper kiss, so that’s why I’m really happy I enjoyed this,” Jaemin says, and he taps Jeno’s forehead with his index finger, smiling softly. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. Nothing serious actually happened.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No, it doesn’t, but it was one time and I’m over it. I’d rather focus on how much I really liked kissing you,” Jaemin insists. “Now stop thinking so much and go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

He flips to his side, facing away, his back pressed against Jeno’s chest.

In any other circumstances, those words would have reassured him, and the kiss would have elated him, but instead, Jeno’s heart tightens in guilt. He can’t help but wonder if Jaemin would feel the same way if he knew he had made out with a liar and soon—a deserter.

He desperately wishes he could turn back time, to that morning by the river, and prevent all this from happening if he had just refused Jaemin’s hand.

Jaemin falls asleep almost immediately, his soft snores filling the air, but Jeno has to wait hours, wide awake in bed, thinking, before he can finally succumb to the world of dreams.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> side note: jaemin acts so flippant about the thing with the baron because he genuinely isn't affected by it whatsoever. even though the baron didn't get to do anything before nana retaliated, that doesn't mean it's not a big deal and isn't serious; it's just that jaemin doesn't care and jeno didn't want to push the subject. how jaemin and the black coyotes dealt with the baron will be mentioned again later on.
> 
> otherwise, there wasn't as much fluff as i'd anticipated but oh well!! hope u guys liked it enough anyway <33


	6. v. your vague indications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he lurks through the halls, ducking his head to avoid any unwanted attention, he’s never felt so estranged from his old home—never felt so far from Jaemin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i hate school. all i want to do is write but there's no time :(

In the end, it's Jeno's lack of resolve that allows him to fall asleep in the same bed as Jaemin last night. By the time he comes to his senses, it's morning—the sun peeks through the grime-covered windows, and there's the low rumble of people waking up and eating breakfast downstairs. There's a crease on the bed left from where Jaemin had slept. The leader's always been an early riser and today was no different.

Jeno slowly sits up, ignoring the headache brewing at the back of his head. He scowls; he'd lost his chance to slip away unnoticed before the ceremony, simply because he couldn’t bring himself to wake up earlier.

"You okay, sleepy head?" Jaemin teases from across the room. He has his back towards him as he stands in front of a mirror, tugging on an elegant navy blue double-breasted coat, fitted at the waist before flaring out at the knees in a long coat tail with a high slit. Jeno's never seen that particular coat before; it looks lavish and newly pressed. Flashy on anyone else, but gorgeous on Jaemin.

"You like it?" Jaemin catches him staring through the mirror and smirks. "I bought something nice for you too, but you won't be able to wear it till the victory ball. Everyone has to wear their armour for their knighting."

It takes a moment for Jeno to process what he means. Right. The knighting ceremony is today. The King Regent will be there. It’s highly likely Mark will be present too. Jeno swallows down the panic threatening to overcome him.

"And you don't?" he manages to croak out, voice rough from sleep.

"I can't. I'm being named Viscount, remember?" Jaemin laughs. "Geez, just how much did you drink last night?"

Jeno blinks, taken aback.

He hadn't been drunk enough to black out and forget what happened last night—let alone the kiss.

Neither of them had been.

But maybe this is Jaemin giving him a choice—to keep their friendship or to let it progress into something else. They could both pretend last night never happened and wipe it clean from their memories.

Jeno's grateful for the way out, but he can't help the strange, swimmy feeling from swarming his stomach when he finally speaks. "Yeah, I don't remember anything."

Jaemin responds with a light chuckle but doesn't say anything else. Jeno watches him silently as he fixes and repositions his lace jabot, three-tiered with slight ruffles at the end. Then his gaze falls onto Jaemin's pretty pink lips. Jaemin sticks his tongue out, wetting the bottom of his lips, as he pins a small, royal blue stone brooch to hold his jabot in place.

"Isn't that a bit much?" he finds himself asking, his eyes still permanently fixed on Jaemin's reflection, on his lips. The same lips he had kissed just last night, the ones that had smiled when they had met—that he had to forget.

If Jaemin's bothered by his staring, he doesn't let it show. He lifts his shoulders delicately, turning away from the mirror with a spin. For some reason, there's a plate of sugar cubes on the table—he must have gotten it from downstairs before Jeno had woken up—and he plucks one, holding it between his index finger and thumb.

"Maybe when I'm actually Viscount, I'd have too much money I could care less about," he says, and even though it’s no surprise when he throws the white cube into his mouth, Jeno cringes anyway, "but right now, I don't. I have to wear this at the banquet too, and I'd rather be overdressed for one than underdressed for both."

"I could've bought my own clothes for the banquet, so you could afford to buy a second suit for yourself," Jeno says guiltily. He has more than enough money, with the share he gets as one of the commanders of the Black Coyotes. And it’s not like he was planning to go.

Jaemin munches on a second sugar cube, and rolls his eyes. "But you didn't, and I wanted to get you a gift, so shut up."

He crosses the room in a couple of strides, grabbing his sabre along the way and sheathing it, hiding it under his coat. Jeno jolts when Jaemin props a foot on the edge of the bed and rests an elbow on his knee, peering down at Jeno with a mocking smile. He's switched his typical loose trousers—more for ease than fashion—for a pair of black pants that stretch and strain over his thighs when he moves just the right way.

"Jaemin?" Jeno says, lips all of a sudden dry. If Jaemin really was letting him forget last night, why was he acting like this?

Jaemin blows him a kiss, his eyes bright with mirth. "You're thinking too much again. Just hurry your ass up and get ready. I’m starving."

 

 

 

There’s a weathered sign hanging on the inn’s interior wall. Jeno can barely make out its name,  _ The Moonlight Sea.  _ The building’s seen better days—the siding painted a faded blue-grey and peeling off, cracks in the window panes, stains on the floorboards—but there’s a sense of coziness in the air as the owner, in a muted red apron and rolled up sleeves, serves his patrons’ breakfast with a kind smile.

Jeno asks him about the inn’s peculiar name when he approaches his and Jaemin’s table. It makes no fucking sense; the town, nestled at the cusp of the border between Leonum and Testudo, is ways away from the ocean. Jeno doubts anyone in the establishment has even seen the sea, let alone recognizes its salty breeze. Well, neither has he, but he isn’t the one going around naming his inn after the sea.

Mr Moon simply looks at him and laughs.

“You didn’t tell him?” he asks Jaemin, who shakes his head, barely paying attention as he finishes his bowl of porridge and asks for another one.

Mr Moon takes out his palm. “Gonna have to pay for that, sweetie.”

Jaemin scowls, but takes out a pouch from his pocket and hands him several coins. They’ve already drawn a lot of unwanted attention when they first descended into the main room of the inn. With Jaemin’s ostentatious outfit, suited for a ball, and Jeno’s gleaming armour, the sound of coins clinking against each other immediately has everyone else paying even closer attention, like piranhas attracted to the scent of blood. A group of scarred fellows with ursine builds leer at them, an old woman eyes them, a busboy gawks at them—all of them interested in one thing: their money. Jeno doesn’t blame them; the two of them look like young noble sons—arrogant, insanely rich, and incapable of defending themselves.

But they aren’t, and Jeno warily lays his hand on the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t want to resort to violence, but he will if he has to.

Jaemin slowly, but surely, shifts his leg and lets his coat fall back, revealing a glimmer of sharp silver—his sabre. Then he continues, nonchalant, “You’d think that after staying at this inn for god knows how many times  _ and  _ saving this town from the Testudians taking control, you’d be a little more appreciative. No free porridge for your dear friend?”

“Sorry, but business is business,” Mr Moon quips, slipping the coins into his apron pocket with an easy smile. “I’d be right back with your request. Congratulations on your victory though; the Black Coyotes truly is a force to be reckoned with.”

Those in the immediate area flinch, as if scalded by Mr Moon’s confirmation. Like a pebble dropped in a body of water, the mere mention of the Black Coyotes causes a ripple of whispers to spread throughout the room. A sort of respect tinged with fear permeates the air. Jeno finally feels like he can breathe with ease, tension washed away. No one dares to approach, let alone look at them for a second too long, save for the busboy but the young tend to be more daring.

“What was Mr Moon talking about earlier? About The Moonlight Sea?” he recalls. “What haven’t you told me yet?”

“It’s not a big deal. I just never got the chance tell you,” Jaemin says. “Mr Moon says he used to be a pirate and that he misses the sea. That’s why he named the inn after it.”

“Mr Moon? A  _ pirate _ ?” Jeno says incredulously. He sneaks a glance in the innkeeper’s direction. The man’s on his way back with Jaemin’s porridge, but was halted midway to refill a woman’s drink. He looks too friendly—soft in manner and appearance—to be considered as something as vulgar as a pirate, one who raids and robs others of their livelihoods.

“Yes, Mr Moon,” Jaemin drops his voice, leaning in conspiratorially. “Apparently, he used to be on the same crew as Johnny Seo, feared captain from Nassau.”

“You sure he isn’t deceiving you? It seems like an easy way to get everyone to follow his rules,” Jeno suggests.

“Hey, I was skeptical at first too.” Jaemin puts a hand to his chest in mock offence. “But you’ve never seen Mr Moon when he gets mad. They say whenever someone—usually an old brute—gets too handsy with another customer and refuses to back off, Mr Moon takes them out of the room to have a nice ‘chat’... Then he always comes back  _ alone, _ and no one ever sees the other man ever again.”

At Jeno’s look of disbelief, Jaemin shrugs, falling back into his chair, his arms hanging from the side, legs spread wide open. “But you’re right, even if he can kill, I find it hard to believe he used to be associated with Johnny fucking Seo.”

“I was,” Mr Moon says, placing the bowl of porridge in front of Jaemin. The latter chirps a ‘thanks’ and immediately digs in. “It wasn’t as sordid as the King’s people would have you believe, but it wasn’t the lifestyle for me either. Although if you two are ever interested in sailing the high seas, I could offer you a couple of pointers and link you up with a few of my old comrades, even Captain Seo if you wish it. There’s an island out in the south that you might be interested in, rumoured to have immense riches—”

“Thanks, but,” Jaemin finishes the porridge at record speed and stands up, pushing his chair back, “we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Mr Moon folds his hands in front of him. “We’ll see about that,” he says mildly.

“We really should get going, Mr Moon.” There’s a hint of annoyance in Jaemin’s tone, but he leaves behind a generous tip, and Jeno bows in his stead, thanking the owner for the hospitality and food before following Jaemin out.

Just as they’re about to leave, a boy darts in front of them. Jaemin stops abruptly, and Jeno nearly bumps into his back. It’s the busboy, about nine years old, with dirty blond hair and freckles spattered over his cheeks.

“Do you need something?” Jaemin asks kindly. He’s always had a soft spot for children.

“You’re from the Black Coyotes, right?” the busboy asks.

Jaemin nods, and Jeno can’t help but keep an eye on the child’s fidgeting hands.

“Is the war with Testudo over now?” the boy asks hesitantly.

“Yes,” Jaemin replies. “All they have to do is sign the peace treaty, which should be happening soon, I believe.”

“But what about the royal family? My mama told me we were at war with them because they killed the King and Queen and their little boy. They may have surrendered, but we still haven’t gotten our revenge.”

Jeno cuts in before Jaemin can answer.

“The country’s been at war for more than a decade, fighting for a family long gone. The King Regent knows what he’s doing when he calls for peace. He knows revenge isn’t an option if innocent people will suffer in consequence.” Jeno kneels to the boy’s eye level, curling his hands into tight fists, if only to steady their shaking.

Jaemin rests his hand on his shoulder. “Jeno—”

“Do you understand?”

The boy bobs his head up and down fervently. “Yeah. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Jeno lets his gaze soften. “It’s alright. It’s just, I’m sure the royal family, if they were alive, would feel the same way too.”

The boy nods again, but he doesn’t move and stares down at his feet, shifting on the back of his heels, wringing his hands nervously. Jeno waits until the boy visibly inhales, gathers up the courage, and says, “Can I join the Black Coyotes?”

He looks at Jaemin.

“You having trouble here, kiddo?” Jaemin asks, concern bleeding into his voice.

“Name’s Felix. And no,” Felix admits, hanging his head low. “Mama loves me and Mr Moon treats me well. I just...want to make a difference like you guys. You saved us all from the Testudians—you’re heroes.”

Jaemin ruffles the kid’s hair. “Trust me, Felix. You don’t wanna be like us.”

“But, but—” Felix is pouting quite marvellously now, taken aback by the rejection. His body trembles as he struggles to remain composed.

Jeno stands up as Jaemin grabs the boy’s hand and lays on his palm, not one coin, not two, but his  _ entire  _ pouch of money. “First, take care of yourself and your mama. If you still wanna join us when you’re sixteen, then we can talk,” he instructs, and Felix’s mouth falls open in surprise.

Jeno taps the boy’s chin to shut his mouth.

“Keep him safe for us, Mr Moon,” Jaemin throws over his shoulder as he saunters off, his boots clicking loudly against the floorboards, shoulders rolled back like the confident leader he is.

“I will,” Mr Moon calls back, his voice gentle. Then he turns towards Jeno, and says, “Remember. You two are always welcome at The Moonlight Sea.”

Jeno doesn’t know how to respond, so he nods stiffly in return. Mr Moon smiles as if he’s keeping a secret and goes back to serve another one of his patrons a plate of eggs and bread.

After Felix thanks Jeno profusely, his hands shaking, and promises to watch over his mother, Jeno pats the boy on the head like Jaemin did and tells him he’d be better off without the band. If he later finds that he’s hit rock bottom and has nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, then he can seek them out and ask to join again. Jeno isn’t the leader, but he doesn’t want Felix to waste his happy future here. He has reason to believe that Jaemin feels the same way too.

Jaemin’s band is for the lost and the lonely—not for those who already have a home (or a dream).

Jaemin’s waiting for him when he exits the inn. He starts walking towards the stables when he sees him, and Jeno falls into step beside him.

“I thought you were running low on money?” he asks.

“I can’t afford another suit, but I sure as hell can give a boy some coins,” Jaemin says, and he’s smiling, irrepressibly. “Hey, imagine that, Jeno. The boy sees us as  _ heroes.” _

There’s a difference between a natural born leader and a hero, and it isn’t hard to tell—when there’s an extra bounce in his step, a healthy glow on his cheeks, his eyes bright and determined—that this is the first time Jaemin’s ever felt like a hero.

But Jaemin Na’s always been a hero in Jeno’s eyes.

“Hey,” Jaemin says suddenly. “You dealt with the kid well. I wouldn't have known what to say. I mean, what happened to the royal family really was tragic.”

Jeno shrugs uncomfortably. “I was only telling the truth. I heard that they were kind, and I'm sure they would have wanted what was best for the people."  _And Testudo has nothing to do with their murder._

Jaemin doesn’t say anything further, but there's a pensive look in his eyes that Jeno can't quite grasp. He doesn't dare ask, though, and changes the subject.

 

 

♛

 

 

In the heart of the capital of Leonum lies the Citadel, home to the royal family—which, Jeno supposes, only consists of Mark now. It’s been more than ten years since he’s visited his old home. The Citadel soars above the rest of the city, a sprawling expanse of stained glass and stone, with an infrastructure untouched by the woes of war—graceful arches and steep towers, clean grids of streets lined with houses and businesses.

Things that Jeno remembers vividly from that night were gone; the moat where the handmaiden was thrown in had been dried, filled, and covered, and the briar bush that had kept him both alive and in pain was removed.

Sometimes, he wonders if all that had happened was just a dream, and maybe, he was never a prince. But then the Ring of the Lions pulses against his chest, and he’s pulled back to reality. He’s not sure whether to feel saddened or relieved. It’d be so much easier if he could forget his past.

Much like the rest of the Citadel, the throne room drips of opulence, a hall of gleaming gold and ornate designs. Jeno never got a moment to himself since Jaemin stuck with him throughout the entire ride to the capital, and when he was finally whisked away to prepare for the ceremony, Renjun magically appeared at his side, Yukhei close at his heels. They've chosen a spot near the back of the room, merging with the newer members of the Black Coyotes. Chenle and Jisung had gravitated elsewhere, drawn by the coloured lights seeping through the stained glass above the throne.

"If we’re the commanders, shouldn’t we be at the front?" Jeno whispers to Renjun, despite knowing better.

Renjun fixes him a cool look. "Do you want to go?"

Jeno shakes his head. He doesn't want to risk getting recognized by Mark or any of the nobles or the old staff members, but neither Renjun nor Yukhei—who's craning his neck and gawking at anything gold and shimmery—have to worry about that. He'd think they'd want to move forward.

"I don't care," Renjun says, as if he could read his thoughts. "We're all being named Knights of Leonum, sworn to protect the kingdom. We each get the same ranking, and only Jaemin gets a higher status. It doesn't matter where we stand anyway."

"Plus, Renjunnie said you'd be uncomfortable under public scrutiny, and Boss agreed," offers Yukhei. "That's why we're lying low in the crowd right now."

Jeno waggles his eyebrows at Renjun. “Oh, you’re too kind.”

Renjun huffs. “We should quiet. The ceremony is gonna start soon and people are staring. We don’t wanna cause trouble when we’re supposed to be representing Jaemin, and he’s supposed to be Viscount now.”

Noblemen and women study their faces in contempt, looking down on them from their perch on the balconies above. The ones who stayed on the first floor leave a wide berth around the Black Coyotes, hiding their whispers behind their prim gloved hands.

“This is utterly unprecedented. A _commoner_ attaining the title of knighthood…”

“What on earth is the King Regent thinking? And court ranking at that...”

“But this last battle...the Black Coyotes certainly did display much merit…”

“So what of this stupid bunch of rabble? Without war, those wretched mercenaries would be nothing more than thieves.”

Jeno marvels, as he often does nowadays, at the nobles and their tendency to talk shit behind your back, but smile at your face.

Not like they have to try and hide their disgust at them. The Black Coyotes will forever be a band of  _ wretched _ mercs in their eyes, even with their new peerage.

The room silences as soon as one of the royal guards snaps to attention and announces the presence of King Regent Taeyong, followed by the Crown Prince, Mark, and his betrothed, Prince Donghyuck of the kingdom of Solis, their neighbour down by the south, known for their blistering deserts and exotic trades from overseas. Jeno had heard of their engagement, forged when his uncle had still been in power. No doubt he saw promising business prospects in their alliance by joining Solis and Leonum and making both nations strong in trade and military.

Mark gestures at his fiancé to take a seat, facing Donghyuck like he’s his source of light. Jeno has to wonder if he’d be the one standing on those stone steps if he’d never run away.

_ Oh, wait,  _ he sneers to himself. _ I would’ve been dead. _

Renjun gives him a sharp look, and Jeno forces himself to focus. He can’t afford to draw attention to himself no matter what.

Only the actual ruler may sit on the golden throne. For this reason, Mark and his fiancé sit on two gilded chairs placed beside it, and King Regent Taeyong stands before the throne, but never sits.

Although Taeyong isn’t royalty, he remains iridescently regal in the sunlight pouring in from the tall windows. Jeno remembers him vaguely at the parties his father used to host, but he’d been closer to Mark than Jeno, likely because Jeno’s higher status was too intimidating for him to approach. It must have worked out in his favour; he doesn’t know how exactly Taeyong had managed to get elected as Regent by the council—stuffy old people—but Mark probably had a say in it. Jeno has to applaud him for not only getting the role as King Regent, but keeping it. It isn’t an easy feat ruling a kingdom during a time of war.

Taeyong looks older—more mature, with sharp cheekbones and serious eyes. Jaemin kneels directly below him, head bowing down as he waits.

The ceremony lasts a while, and despite his best efforts, Jeno finds himself zoning out.

“...In the name of God and the Spirit, I bestow the status of Knight and Viscount upon thee,” finishes Taeyong, lifting a slim sword and touching it briefly on Jaemin’s shoulder. “Be valiant with all due courtesy, as well as faithfulness. Dedicate your heart and life to the kingdom and its ruler.”

Jaemin’s silver sabre glitters in the sunlight when he swears his final oath, kissing the tip of the sword to finish off the ceremony. Then he rises before Taeyong tells him to. Without waiting for further instructions, he spins on his heels and approaches Mark. The three royal guards beside the prince make a move to apprehend him, but Mark dismisses them with a wave of his hand.

He looks intrigued at what Jaemin has to say.

But Jaemin doesn’t speak a word. Instead, he kneels on one knee, his hand rested on the other. He raises his head, though, and although Jeno can’t see his face, he must be conveying something to Mark. He carefully watches Mark, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of emotion—anything: curiosity, joy, fear—but the prince’s poker face has improved and he schools his features, his lips drawn in a neutral line.

Then, to everyone’s bewilderment, he stands up and offers his hand. When Jaemin takes it, the crowd physically gasps, recoiling, the impact of the gesture causing a sort of whiplash in the nobles around them. Jaemin stands up, his hand still clasped around Mark’s, and whatever agreement had passed between them are left unsaid as they part.

“You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy,” a woman says viciously behind Jeno. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such disrespect shown towards the Crown Prince.”

Jeno’s never heard of such a blatant lie. If Jaemin had disrespected Mark, no matter how kind his cousin is, there’s no way he’d have let it go. He imagines Prince Donghyuck would have had something to say too.

No, that’s not what happened. When Taeyong had dubbed him as a knight, Jaemin had pledged his life to the kingdom and, in consequence, Mark. Then he had just as quickly obliterated that difference in status when Mark agreed to shake his hand, making their relationship less like a knight serving a prince, and more like a friendship between equals.

Frankly, it’s unheard of for a commoner to disregard all rules and do that. But then again, when did Jaemin ever care about social norms?

It’s funny, Jeno reminisces, how all it ever takes for someone to fall under Jaemin's spell is a handshake.

When the gossiping increases in volume, the King Regent clears his throat to get their attention. It looks like Taeyong knows better than to question the prince, and he deliberately moves on as if nothing had happened and history hadn’t just been made.

He dubs the rest of the Black Coyotes as knights, instating them to the Leonum general army if they choose so. It’s supposed to be over soon, and even though Jeno knows he’s hiding at the back and no one cares about him at the moment and it’s been  _ eleven fucking years  _ since anyone’s last caught a look of his face, he can’t stop the nerves from taking over.

Jeno fidgets, his eyes flickering to Mark subconsciously, just waiting for a flash of recognition in his cousin’s eyes. Mark looks different; he’s lost his baby face and his adorably awkward smile. Confidence settles on his shoulders, flowing down freely like the red cloak on his back. Even the way he sits is relaxed, poised.

Only one word comes to mind when Jeno looks at him:  _ King. _

It’s not until he manages to drag his eyes away from his cousin, then from Jaemin, who’s standing there, just as self-assured as the future King, his lashes fluttering shut in boredom, does Jeno feel another pair of eyes weighing him down.

With his heart in his throat, he meets Donghyuck's gaze straight on.

The Prince of Solis doesn’t falter, his dark brown eyes piercing into him, as if he could read all of Jeno’s thoughts.

_ I know who you are,  _ his eyes seem to say accusingly.

Jeno looks away, panicked, and when he looks back a second later, the foreign prince flicks his shimmery red hair—dyed, a trend in the south—and rests his chin on the curve of his palm, eyes elsewhere. He never looks at Jeno again.

“You okay?” Renjun asks when the ceremony ends, and the crowd disperses. He pulls him along, going with the flow of people exiting the room, the majority of the Black Coyotes heading off to celebrate (again) before the actual ball.

Jeno nods, barely.

“Let’s go congratulate Boss,” Yukhei suggests, tugging Renjun’s arm back into the room, where nobles crowd around Jaemin, no doubt showering him with fake compliments and thinly veiled threats. Jaemin looks comfortable, though, smiling brightly as he converses. Like a Viscount. A leader. A hero.

Like he belongs here.

Renjun looks hesitant. “Okay,” he tells Yukhei. Then he turns to Jeno. “You look tired. I guess you wanna rest up before the banquet?”

Jeno scratches the back of his head sheepishly, glad for the chance to escape. “Yeah. That’d be...nice. Congratulate Nana for me.”

“I will,” promises Renjun.

And no matter how far Jeno walks away from the throne room unnoticed, with no guards suddenly coming to seize him or Donghyuck apprehending him, he can’t seem to shake off the feeling of dread curling in his stomach.

As he lurks through the halls, ducking his head to avoid any unwanted attention, he’s never felt so estranged from his old home—never felt so far from Jaemin.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....AND they're back to square one.
> 
> (also let's ignore all the historical inaccuracies about the medieval ages. it's not my fault the clothes back then were so fucking ugly salfkjlksafj. it's fantasy, let me get away with it haha)

**Author's Note:**

> comments really motivate me and bring joy to my bleak days!!!


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